Eye of the Storm
by Torie46
Summary: What happens when you find out your life is not what you thought it was. For Rachel Hamilton a.k.a Roberta Wayne she is about to find out
1. Secrets revealed

The Eye of the Storm

By

Jonathan Fan

**Summary: I am not giving up on my Megan stories, but I always loved the book "The Face on the Milk Carton" by Caroline B. Cooney. I also love the movie that is based off of it. So after a lot of thinking along those lines for a possible "Batman Begins" story plot this is what I came up with. I hope you like it and this is my first try at first person. Review plz!!!! And no flames!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Batman Begins" or "The Face on the Milk Carton.**

Chapter1- Discoveries

My life is normal. Or I'd like to think it is. I grow up in a nice town with some really terrific parents. My friends are good friends. We often like to hang out at the mall or have "Star Wars" or "Lord of the Rings" marathons. With this much normalcy in my life all of you would probably ask how my life turned out the way it did. How my name changed from Rachel Hamilton to Roberta Wayne.

If any of you have read the book "The Face on the Milk Carton" and the other books that followed then you'd know. How a normal girl like me could find out that something as hideous and ugly, like kidnapping, could happen. Like I said a minute ago my name is Rachel Hamilton. I've grown up my whole life in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Or I've lived there since I could remember. My mom and dad said we moved here when I was three. I can't remember moving here, but Mom said that I loved every minute of the move. Of course we don't exactly live in the city. Mom said she doesn't like city noises. So we live in one of the suburbs.

The day my world fell apart it was a very nice day. It was cool and sunny. Summer had just ended. In Cedar Rapids summer normally ended in the middle of August. The first day of school was like fifty degrees. So I'm used to wearing a down jacket in the middle of August.

It was the first week of my freshman year of high school. I was in honors classes out the wazoo. In my last year of middle school my counselor had decided that I would do better taking the college path during my years of high school. The best part was that most of my friends were smart any way. So all of them were in the honors classes with me.

I was finishing taking the quiz for algebra that our teacher had assigned when the bell rang for lunch. I know that during the book that was going to map out how I fell into a nightmare Janie Johnson was in English, but suffice it to say I'm not exactly Janie. There are some differences in this story. One I don't have a boyfriend and two I'm not allergic to milk like she was.

"All right, boys and girls, when you come back from lunch you can finish the test," the teacher said, for everyone's benefit, but mine. I was done. I planned to pull out "The Hobbit" after lunch and read for the rest of the period.

I ran down the hallway, my dark brown braid beating my back with a slap. Now that should have been my first clue that my parents weren't my parents, but for some strange reason I had never thought about it. I'd thought maybe I'd gotten my hair color from a grandparent.

"Hi, Rachel!" My best friend Sara said, hugging me. Now there's an irony for ya. My best friend is Sara and Janie's best friend is a girl called Sarah-Charlotte Sherwood.

"Hi, Sara," I said calmly. Sara was exuberant and bouncy. I wasn't. You ever heard that old saying about opposites attracting? Well, me and Sara invented that phrase.

"So, how was the algebra test?" Sara asked, wrapping her arm around my shoulder as we walked into the cafeteria.

"Okay, I suppose. I finished even before the bell rang," I said as we walked into the lunch line.

"How'd you do that, Rachel?" Sara asked, a dumb look on her face. If her hair wasn't red and had been blonde I would have called her a dumb blonde.

"Simple. I've been learning this stuff over the summer. You know my dad. He said he wanted me prepared when I got here," I said. That was true. My father is a stickler for preparing yourself when you're going to do anything. My father is a doctor in the hospital in Cedar Rapids. If anyone ever watched the TV show "Doc" that's what my father is like.

I got my lunch and sat down. Today was potato soup. I know what all of you must be thinking. In a school cafeteria how can potato soup be good? Believe me, in this school, potato soup is out of this world. Especially if it's cold outside the potato soup warms you up.

Now the milk cartons at school are relatively new. I mean, now they put kids pictures on them. I don't know how they figure that high school kids care about kids that are kidnapped or missing. I would look at the picture briefly, but I never really paid that much attention. Of course Sara had to be the minority.

"This is interesting," Sara commented, looking at her carton of strawberry milk.

"What?" I wanted to know. When Sara got interested in something she wouldn't even answer me when I asked what it was.

"This little girl has been missing for almost twelve years," Sara said, indicating the picture of a cute little girl on the carton.

Taking a good look at the carton I felt my throat close like a trapdoor. The little girl had dark brown hair, just like me and impressive eyes. Because the picture was black-and-white I couldn't know what color they were unless I read the information on the carton. But I didn't have to read the information. I already knew. That little girl was ME!!!!!

I don't know how I managed to get through school with that newfound knowledge. I had drained out the milk carton and kept it. I know, like Janie Johnson, I kept it. Don't ask me why I did. If you found out that you had joined the ranks of other kidnapped kids would you keep the thing that had brought your life shattering around your ears?

For some reason I just had to keep it. Even though my mind kept saying that this had to be a mistake I kept it. I, Rachel Hamilton, had not been kidnapped. My parents loved kids. They wouldn't kidnap them.

But my eyes stayed glued to the picture. I had seen that face countless times. I have about a million pictures of me at home. My parents are in love with the camera and there are about a zillion photo albums in the house to prove it with more than a zillion photographs of me. About 10 of those are pictures of me when I was three.

I looked back at the photograph and the information below it. Roberta Wayne Kidnapped in Gotham City. Now there was a place everyone knew about. The Batman was there and it was a dangerous place to live. If I had lived there at one time it was a miracle of God that I hadn't been killed when I was kidnapped. Wait a minute. I just said when I was kidnapped. I had to shake my head slightly. I was admitting to being kidnapped? I had no proof that the little girl was me.

I had heard that everyone has a lookalike. What if this girl is my double and she's out there somewhere. That was where I made my first mistake. I should have known that there was no mistake and that I was Roberta Wayne.

Now considering that I found out this information what do y'all think was my next move? All of you would think that maybe I would be too numb with shock at finding out this information. I wasn't. My next move was at dinner that night. Looking at my mom and dad I had to know if I looked anything like them.

My mom was short and beautiful with icy-blue eyes and blonde hair. My father's hair was black and he had brown eyes. Okay maybe my dad's hair color would explain mine, but my hair wasn't black. Only when it was dark did my hair look jet-black. When the sun hit it did it look dark-brown with a few black tints. And I couldn't explain my green eyes. My mother's parents had blue eyes like hers because they were German and my father was half-Indian so his eyes were brown. I was taking biology this year and I would have gotten hazel eyes, not light moss-green eyes.

Also my father's nose was large and my mother's was short. My nose was long and thin. I remember reading the book "Queen" by Alex Haley where her grandmother said she had the looks of Josephine, Napoleon Bonaparte's wife. I felt my nose was like that.

My close scrutiny of my parents got their attention unfortunately. 'What's the matter, Rachel?" Mom asked, taking my long, thin hand in hers. This was another way we were different. My hand was long and bony while hers was short and plump. My father stooped eating and stared at me.

"I'm doing a project for biology and all of us have to figure out what characteristics and looks we got from our parents," I said, giving a lie that I couldn't even believe I was giving. I never lied to my parents and I was doing that just now.

Sadly my parents bought it. "You get your hair color from your dad," Mom said affectionately in that way that mothers have.

"But I'm tall and thin compared to both of you?" I asked, eating a bite of cornbread. Because my father was Indian he had taught my mother to cook, Seneca fashion. Corn, beans, and squash were a common staple in our house.

"Your grandfather was the tallest in the whole tribe. You got your height from him," my father said in his gentle, soothing voice. My father's voice was incredible. All the movies you see about Indians who speak English and have calm rollicking voices that can put you to sleep are true. Both my father and his brother have those voices. But back to my grandfather. My grandfather was adopted into the Seneca tribe when he married my Indian grandmother. I had seen pictures of him. He was tall.

"Mom, Dad, can I see my birth certificate?" I asked, after chewing on a bite of beans for a few minutes.

"Why is this so important to you, Rachel?" Dad asked, wiping his mouth.

"I'm curious, I guess. You've never showed it to me and I wanted to know why," I asked. At least that much was true.

"Well, there was a fire on the reservation a few years ago and your birth certificate got burned up with your social security card. We just never had the time to replace it," Dad said, a worse liar than I was. I knew that was not true. I got to the reservation at least a dozen times a year to visit my grandparents and cousins. There was no fire. Dad had just lied to me. I guess now I wouldn't be able to trust my parents.


	2. Investigating

Chapter two- Investigating

Okay, now where did I leave off? Oh, yeah. My dad just lied to me about my birth certificate. As anyone could probably see I was not too happy with him about that. In fact our relationship was pretty chilly the next morning when Dad tried to kiss me goodbye before he went off to work.

As I said before my relationship with my parents is pretty easygoing and we are very close. I could tell my attitude had hurt my father, but I honestly didn't know how to tell him about the milk carton. I was furious that my father had lied, but if I told the truth I'd lose him and Mom. I'd be swapping them in for new parents that I didn't need, want, or remember.

I walked to school slower than usual, every so often looking at my face on the carton. Yeah, I was carrying it. Like Janie, I just couldn't leave it alone. Like her I had to know it was still me on there and not some mistake.

I stopped instantly as a memory then came. I don't know where it came from. It just happened.

**Flashback: **"_Bruce where are you going?" A beautiful woman with brown hair asked a tall, handsome man with dark hair that was standing by a grandfather clock._

"_I have to go out for awhile, Rachel. I'll be back later," the man said, kissing the woman softly. _

"_Bruce, you promised to spend some time with Roberta. She's been looking forward to this all day," Rachel said, slightly miffed. _

_Bruce looked over and saw Roberta and an elderly man. "I did promise, didn't I?" Bruce asked, walking over to the two. _

"_Yes, you did, Master Wayne. Miss Roberta has been climbing the walls for hours," the old man explained handing Roberta to Bruce. Bruce kissed Roberta's soft cheek gently and pulled her braids causing her to giggle. _

**End Flashback**

I gasped slowly as the memory ended. Where did that come from? The woman in my memory was named Rachel, but that was my name. And I apparently liked being with Bruce. The old man called him Master Wayne, but I loved being with him. And I answered to the name Roberta. Whoever Bruce and Rachel were I needed to find out about them. From my memory there was nothing frightening about them.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I started that day to investigate. The internet is a good place to start so I went to the library and started to look up old newspaper articles from Gotham City. Batman monopolized a lot of the headlines. The whole world knew who Batman was. He was as popular as Superman, just not as easygoing.

Okay, now I was getting somewhere. I typed in the name Bruce Wayne. At this point I didn't know who Bruce Wayne was exactly, but judging from the 1000+ articles I found he was the second most important man in Gotham, besides Batman. I started the articles in chronological order. The first started with the deaths of his parents when he was a boy.

Finally one article answered one question for me right now; What did Bruce Wayne look like? I stopped in shock as the handsome man from my memory looked back at me. It also answered what Rachel was like. It was a wedding picture. It looked as if they were looking right at me. I swallowed hard as I looked at them. So these were Roberta Wayne's parents, but could they be mine? Could I really be Roberta? I had answered to it in my memory.

I looked at Mr. Wayne's face again. Fortunately for me, the picture was colorized. I gasped again softly as I looked at his face. I had seen those features a million times as I looked at myself in the mirror. I had the same light-green eyes as he did and he was smiling widely. When I smiled like that it was the same smile. My Wayne's teeth were small and slightly crooked and so were mine. I also had the same hair coloring; dark brown with a few black tints.

On a premonition I typed in the name Roberta Wayne. If it was the same as on the milk carton and looked like all the family pictures in my house then I was Roberta Wayne. The milk carton picture looked back at me, shocking me yet again.

Actually there were a couple of other pictures too. Pictures of Mr. Wayne and Mrs. Wayne holding me in their arms were there. Of course, I noticed that I was with Mr. Wayne more than I was Mrs. Wayne. I must have been closer to my father than my mother. Wait a second. I just called them my mother and father. Just because the pictures are there doesn't make it true.

I then looked up the articles dealing with my kidnapping. That day I was with Mr. Wayne at Wayne Enterprises; a company started by my father's father. They don't know how it happened. My father said that he had turned his back for one minute to talk to his CEO and the next I was gone.

I then checked to see how far Gotham was from Cedar Rapids. Not that far, judging from a map. But my parents would never let me go. My parents are very cautious people, like most parents. Maybe if I showed them the milk carton they might feel different, but like I said, if I did that I would lose my parents and I didn't want to do that.

That was when I formulated a plan in my head. I know that my plan was stupid and I should have known better, but I was desperate and my curiosity far outweighed my common sense.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Later that night, after leaving a note, I snuck out of the house and to the bus station. Getting a bus to Gotham sounded like a good plan to me. I just didn't know how stupid it really was at the time. Like I said before, everyone knows that Gotham is dangerous. Even in the daytime it's not safe.

Wearing a baseball cap over my dark hair I walked in pretending to be a boy. "Hi, I'd like a ticket to Gotham please," I said, lowering my voice to a raspy, wheeze. It made it sound as if I had asthma or maybe smoked a lot.

The ticket agent didn't even blink as he rattled off the price and I paid him. The bus would leave in thirty minutes and I would be in Gotham by sunrise. What I planned to do was go to Wayne Enterprises. I wasn't planning on meeting Mr. Wayne. I just wanted to see if the sight of my father's company would jog my memory in any way.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Gotham City was dank and disgusting. Even the richer section looked bad. I looked around wrinkling my nose at the smell of trash. Apparently no one had thought to clean up the trash that littered the sidewalks.

I looked around again, feeling a little lost and confused. Where did I go from here? I know I said I was going to Wayne Enterprises, but how do I get there? Maybe I could ask someone.

"Excuse me, how do I get to Wayne Tower, please?" I asked a business woman in a mud-brown suit and red pumps.

"I would suggest that you take the train from here to the tower," the woman said crisply. She walked away before I could even ask where the train was or how much it even cost to ride.

Stopping at least three more people I found out what I wanted to know. To my greater relief it was in my price range. I rode the train all the way to Wayne Station, keeping the Wayne Tower in my sights. That was where the train would stop. I got off the train and looked around.

I wondered how I was going to get inside the building. I doubted that there would be a back door or that they would let me walk into the building like I owned the place. To my greater relief I saw a group of schoolchildren about my age. If I could pretend to be a part of their class I could just walk in unnoticed.

I pulled off my baseball cap and stuffed it into the pocket of my navy blue coat. I know I wasn't really a student, but none of them would be wearing baseball caps and I didn't want to call any unnecessary attention to myself. Of course there were a few other factors I hadn't considered.

"Who are you?" A tall girl, with gray-blue eyes asked me, putting her hands on her hips.

My mind drew a blank. I couldn't tell her why I was really there and she was too smart to probably fall for the lie that I went to whatever school she went to. "I saw you going in and I've never been here so I decided to follow you," I said, giving only half of the truth.

"Oh. I guess it is pretty fascinating. I'm Claudia Wilson," the girl said, shaking my hand.

"Rachel. Rachel Hamilton," I said. I felt like kicking myself for easily giving away my name like that. I didn't know this girl! I shouldn't be giving this much information away. Well, at least I didn't say what I thought my real name was. If I had told her that I thought my name was Roberta Wayne she might have turned me over to the police.

We walked into the building and through security. I had to go twice on account of this necklace I wear around my neck that my grandparents had given me when I visited them last at the reservation. But at last we finally got through.

I looked around fleetingly. I couldn't recognize anything yet. That is I couldn't recognize anything until we got to the top level. A tall black man with a white mustache and hair greeted us in a friendly way. My mind clicked with recognition as soon as I saw him. _Mr. Fox. _I remembered. Mr. Fox was the CEO, but I remembered a little bit more than that. I remembered a long ago birthday gift of scented crayons.

"Welcome to Wayne Enterprises. I am Lucius Fox. I run the company for Mr. Bruce Wayne," the man said, obviously not aware that I was hyperventilating in a corner.

Without even looking or anyone even paying attention I ran out into the hallway and to the women's bathroom. Bolting the stall door I collapsed on the floor and dug my fingernails into the knees of my black jeans. This was a mistake. I never should have come here. I don't know what I was hoping to find and I don't think I even want to know.

Standing to my feet shakily I got out of the bathroom and tried to sneak out of the building without being spotted. Maybe I was hoping that no one would notice me leaving. But at this point I think I'm wrong about everything.

I ran blindly out of the bathroom. I came close to reaching the elevators when someone grabbed me by the shoulders. "What are you doing?" A gruff guard asked, looking as if he could frighten a grizzly bear.

"I'm just leaving. I want no trouble," I managed to say, trying to control my breathing and get his meaty hands off of my shoulders.

"What's your name, Girl?" The guard asked. I would have answered him, but something gave me a reason to forget that he was even asking me. My father, Bruce Wayne, came out of an office then and looked at the scene. I looked down, hoping that he didn't see my eyes. My eyes might reveal everything.

"I asked you a question, Girl! What's your name?" The guard asked again, looking like he was about to hit me.

"Roberta Wayne!" As soon as those words came out of my mouth the room got deathly silent. I couldn't believe I just screamed them out loud. I hadn't even planned to reveal this soon my relation to Mr. Wayne. The guard released my shoulders as we both saw Mr. Wayne coming towards us. I felt the blood drain out of my face as our eyes met.

It was my good fortune that the elevator door opened just then. Bolting like a scared rabbit I ran into the elevator and rode down to the ground floor. If Bruce Wayne was my father, like I thought he was, I couldn't look him in the eyes. I had probably been bad if I had been kidnapped. The tears started then. I had to get home. The only problem was that I didn't have any more money to actually get on a bus.

Another problem then looked me in the face. In my rush to get away I had forgotten my necklace. I had left it at the metal detector and getting it meant going back. That would present another chance to see my father. Making a decision I went to the stairs instead of the elevator. I had to get my necklace back.

I made my way to the top floor without anyone stopping me. I went in the direction of the metal detector and was very close when someone else grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around. I looked up at the man who had grabbed me next. Bruce Wayne's eyes locked onto mine.

I was uncertain what to say to him, but apparently that didn't matter as Mr. Wayne took me in his arms and hugged me in a tight hug. I couldn't even break free from this hug. It was that tight. I guess what they always say about parents always knowing their children was true. If he had thought I was lying he wouldn't have hugged me as tight.

Mr. Wayne then cupped my face gently with his hands and looked at me. His eyes misted slightly as they looked at me with a look I had seen in my own father's face. He hugged me yet again, this time kissing the top of my head. I didn't know what to do about this now. I wanted to go home, but since everything had gone wrong I doubted that Mr. Wayne would let me leave.

"Roberta," Mr. Wayne said softly.

"Mr. Wayne, my name's Rachel Hamilton," I said without thinking. Saying this was my next big mistake. Mr. Wayne's eyes had gotten hard and angry. I had no idea that being this honest would get me in trouble, but it did.


	3. Father, Daughter, and Mother Reunions

Chapter 3- Father, daughter, and mother reunions

Now I said Mr. Wayne looked mad when I said my name was Rachel, but I don't know if that anger was exactly directed at me. The muscles in his face tensed with anger, but they relaxed as he looked at me again. He could probably see that if he was angry it wouldn't endear him to me in the slightest particle.

He closed his eyes briefly and gripped my wrist tightly as he half-dragged me to an office. Shutting the door, he then turned and looked at me. "Sit down, Roberta," Mr. Wayne ordered quietly. So much for my telling him that my name was Rachel. I obeyed him, nevertheless.

I don't know what it was about him that made me want to obey him instantly. By the look on his face he struck me as a father who did care and loved me very much.

"You've changed, Robbie," Mr. Wayne said, hesitating slightly.

"I've grown, I guess," I said, feeling hesitant myself. He probably remembered me more as a three-year-old that loved to be held by him. He had probably had no idea that I'd ever really come back and that I'd be tall and thin.

"That's not exactly what I meant. I'm glad you're here," Mr. Wayne said, grabbing me by the shoulders and holding me tightly in his arms again. The man liked to hug. My own father didn't even hug or kiss me that much. One kiss or hug in the morning and another in the evening and that was it. The Seneca were not like Mr. Wayne with their children. They loved their kids, but they told them more in action and words than in hugging and kissing. Of course the Seneca's' idea of punishment was to duck someone under a freezing cold river and I wasn't about to tell Mr. Wayne about that.

I stood there, biting my lips. I didn't know what I could say to him. I felt like Janie when she went to go stay with her biological family; that I had wandered into a bank and was told to call the manager "Dad."

Mr. Wayne looked at me again as he cupped my face gently with his hands. Let me just mention his hands. His hands weren't soft like I'd thought they'd be. They were hard and callused. They were sort of like my father's hands. They were also gentle too. His gentle fatherly manner finally opened me up to want to talk with him.

"How did you know I wasn't lying?" I asked, noticing the pleased expression crossing his face.

"I just knew. Also you took after me more than your mother," Mr. Wayne said, stroking my face with his thumbs.

Could I really argue with that? Like I said before parents must know their children from anywhere and my father was no exception to the rule.

"Where have you been, Roberta?" Mr. Wayne asked as both of us sat down on the soft leather couch.

"I've been living in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Before I lived on a reservation in upstate New York. My, um, father is a doctor," I said, hesitating over calling Patrick Hamilton my father. I didn't know how Mr. Wayne would respond to my calling someone else my father. I was right.

"Roberta, that man is not your father," Mr. Wayne said, his eyes getting hard again.

"I know that now. I just always thought he was," I said, feeling my insides shrink slightly as I met his hard gaze.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you," Mr. Wayne said, taking my hands in his and kissing my own hard, callused palms gently. I was slightly ashamed of my hands. They were proof that I had worked hard and were tough like an old suitcase.

Mr. Wayne then looked at both my hands. It was like he couldn't believe that they had gotten so tough either. He looked up at me, the question in his eyes. "I'm sorry. The Seneca that I've lived among believe in hard work," I apologized, feeling all the blood rush to my face. I felt foolish having to apologize, but Mr. Wayne made me feel remorseful.

"I just never dreamed-" Mr. Wayne started to say, still looking at my hands. I was saved from having to answer by a cell phone. It took me a minute to realize it was mine.

I reached into my backpack slung over my thin shoulder. My cell phone continued to ring and Mr. Wayne looked at me with a puzzled look on his face.

"Hello?" I asked, punching the send button. I debated putting it on speaker phone, but if it was Mom or Dad wanting to yell at me I didn't want Bruce Wayne to hear that.

"RACHEL JANE HAMILTON, WHERE ARE YOU?!!!!" My father's voice screamed over the phone line so loud that I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

"Dad, do you really have to use my full name?" I asked quietly, as my father screamed. Talking that calmly caused my phone line to go silent.

"Hello? Dad, are you still there? Mr. Wayne, I think my dad's speechless," I said, raising my eyebrows slightly at Mr. Wayne. He looked pained. Probably because I had just called Patrick Hamilton my dad, again.

"Dad, will you please answer me. I don't like talking to a dead telephone," I said frostily, standing up and pacing around the room.

"Where are you?" My dad said calmly.

"Gotham City, Dad. Don't worry, I'm okay," I said brokenly. I wasn't okay and Dad knew it. He also knew I wasn't telling him the truth.

"Yeah, right. I hate it when you try to convince me that you aren't crying when you are," Dad said sarcastically.

"Dad, it's great that you know me, but I think you know me a little too well," I said dryly.

"It's a gift. All fathers get it," Dad said, causing me to grin slightly.

"Daddy, you're terrible!" I said, rolling my eyes slightly.

Bruce Wayne stood then. I guess he was tired of hearing me call Patrick "Dad." "May I have the phone please, Roberta?" Mr. Wayne asked stiffly. I shrank slightly as I handed the phone to him, pressing the speaker phone on. I wanted to hear the whole conversation.

"Rachel? Rachel, what's going on?" My father's voice sounded tinny over the connection. Also he sounded very upset. I couldn't say that I blamed him. If my fourteen-year-old daughter had ditched school and was in Gotham City I'd be upset too. I'd be calling the Army, the Navy, the Marines, and everyone else I could think of. But then again that's probably how Mr. Wayne and his wife had to have felt when I disappeared.

"This is Bruce Wayne," Mr. Wayne said, not bothering to take the phone off the speaker phone.

"The billionaire? What's Rachel doing with you?" My dad asked astonished.

"She came here looking around," Mr. Wayne said flatly.

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry if she bothered you, Mr. Wayne," my dad said contritely,

"I don't mind. Especially since she's not really your daughter," Mr. Wayne said harshly. I probably wouldn't have told my father that way, but Mr. Wayne was not me.

My father inhaled sharply. "How did you know that?" Dad asked.

"Just by looking at her. She is my daughter and she is never coming back to you," Mr. Wayne said, looking first at me and then back down at the phone. Those words confirmed my worst fear. Mr. Wayne was going to take me away from my parents and force me to live with him and his wife.

"What? Rachel, what's going on?" My father's voice asked, tinged with panic.

I didn't know how to answer that question. Looking up at Bruce Wayne I bit my lip hard. I wanted to go home and admit this was a mistake in my coming here. I felt like crying, but all Seneca children are taught to mask emotions so I was unable to.

"Rachel?" My father's voice broke through my thoughts.

I looked at Mr. Wayne and then at my phone. "I'm sorry, Dad," I said in a voice that was mine, but I couldn't believe was mine.

"I don't understand," Dad said.

"Go in my room. In a junk drawer in my nightstand you'll find a milk carton. Look at the picture on it and then call me back. If you don't understand it still I can explain it," I said, taking my phone and disconnecting the line.

I flopped back down onto Mr. Wayne's leather couch and waited, turning the phone over in my hands.

"Roberta, I meant what I said. You are not going back there," Mr. Wayne said, touching my shoulder gently.

I looked down at his hand on my shoulder. He looked as if he wanted to not be angry at my father or the situation, but it wasn't working. He was.

"I give it five minutes or less. The milk carton isn't that difficult to find," I said, trying to avoid the conversation that Mr. Wayne was trying to start. I could only deal with one crisis at a time.

My phone then rang, causing me to jump slightly. I answered it, dreading my father's reaction. "Hello?" I asked, my mouth as dry as cotton.

"I found it. Rachel, why didn't you tell us about this?" My dad asked.

"What if I was wrong? Did you want me to be?" I asked, feeling annoyed.

"No of course not. I would have thought you just made an honest mistake," Dad said.

"I was hoping that maybe I had until I found old newspaper articles. Dad, I am sorry. I never meant for this to happen," I said, the tears finally falling. As I said before Seneca rarely have displays of emotion, but this time I couldn't hide how I was feeling. _Some Seneca I am, _I thought ruefully.

"It's not your fault," Dad said consolingly.

"I feel like it is. And you saying that doesn't make me feel better," I said bitterly.

"It's not. It was mine. We just took another man's word for it that you were an orphan and we didn't even think to check things out," Dad said, his voice heavy with self-pity.

"Who was it, Dad? Was it someone you knew really well?" I asked.

"Not really. He had heard that your mom and I couldn't have kids and it would take an eternity to cut through all the red tape involved in adoption," Dad said.

'Was my adoption even legal, Dad?" I asked.

"At the time we thought it was. He said he came from Asia and had a huge success rate in putting kids who didn't have homes with good people," Dad said ruefully.

"Did he have a goatee and a blue flower on his jacket?" Mr. Wayne asked, reminding me that I wasn't alone in this conversation.

"Yes, why?" Dad asked.

"I know who the man was who gave her to you," Mr. Wayne said grimly.

"Who is it?" Dad asked uneasily.

"His name's Henri Ducard. He's otherwise known as Ra's al Ghul. He's a criminal that wanted me to help him destroy Gotham and when I wouldn't do it he became my enemy. Now I know he took my daughter as an act of revenge," Mr. Wayne said.

"Oh, boy!! I am so sorry! We should have checked things out before he dumped a little girl on us," Dad said. If I could have seen him I would say he was probably blushing. My father's face had a tendency to turn as red as a tomato at the drop of a hat.

"Dad, it's not your fault that you are a complete and total idiot," I said without thinking. At those words I clapped my hand over my mouth in shock. "Sorry. I think I left my brain on the train here," I said.

"No, you're right. I was an idiot. I am so sorry, Rachel," Dad said ruefully. Dad disconnected then, leaving me standing there with the phone in my hands and next to a total stranger I could barely remember who had his arm around my shoulders.

"Roberta, I'm going to take you home. Your mother is going to be so happy when she sees you again," Mr. Wayne said, gently running his fingers through my hair. I looked at him blankly. Home? Then I realized he meant his house. In my memories his house was big. That was all I could remember.

I was confused and scared. I know that I shouldn't have been, but I was. Mr. Wayne wrapped his arm around me and walked with me to the elevator. It was a protective stance he was taking. My father would have done the same thing. It was then I remembered my necklace. I was not leaving without it. I broke free from Mr. Wayne and went over to the metal detector. My necklace was on a metallic tray. Picking it up I put it around my neck.

"Roberta?" Mr. Wayne asked, his voice close to my ear. I looked at him. His green eyes were a mirror of confusion.

"I just want my necklace. My Indian grandmother gave it to me on my last birthday," I said, hoping that was explanation enough. I slipped it around my neck, hoping Mr. Wayne didn't take it from me. My necklace is important to me. My grandmother has given one to each of the five granddaughters she had, including me. Each of us has our English name written on it and the Seneca translation written on the back. The big problem was that the metals she used stopped all kinds of metal detectors. Mine was a combination of rock quartz, metal, lead, and gold melted together.

Fortunately for me Mr. Wayne didn't press it and make me give up my necklace. This was a huge relief.

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The ride to his house was long to say the least. Mr. Wayne tried to talk with me, but I'm not a great conversationalist. I preferred silence over talking and so I sat there, just looking out the window as Gotham City gave way to the countryside.

"You live outside the city, Mr. Wayne?" I asked, after a few uncomfortable minutes of silence.

"Yes. You, your mother, and myself we live outside Gotham. Our family has always done that and have been here for generations," Mr. Wayne said, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove. I also want to mention his car that he was driving. Now it was a nice car and it cost probably more than my father made in a year being a doctor.

"That's good. I don't like the city," I said staidly, turning my attention back to the countryside.

Mr. Wayne and I lapsed back into silence. I still didn't know what I could possibly say to him. I didn't know even what to call him. "Mr. Wayne" seemed natural since I already called someone else "Dad." But he seemed upset when I called him by his last name.

My eyes were dazzled when we stopped in front of the biggest mansion I had ever seen. It looked as if it could house the whole Seneca reservation and then some. I paused as I looked at it. Mom and Dad would never believe me when I told them about this!

"Come on, Roberta," Mr. Wayne ordered gently, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and taking me to the house. An old man answered the door. I didn't understand much of the conversation that Mr. Wayne had with him. I knew that his name was Alfred by the introductions, but I was too busy looking around with my eyes at the huge foyer that I had found myself in. Alfred looked at me, a shocked expression on his face. It was then I realized he had said something to me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear what you said," I said, feeling my face flush with shame.

"I said, welcome home, Miss Roberta," Alfred said, taking my ratty backpack.

I grabbed it out of his hands when I realized what he was doing. "Where are you going with my backpack?" I asked.

"Give Alfred the backpack, Roberta. He's just taking it to your room," Mr. Wayne said, taking my backpack out of my hands and giving it to Alfred.

"That's right, Miss. You'll get it back," Alfred promised, looking concerned.

"Okay, I guess," I said reluctantly.

Mr. Wayne then wrapped his arms around me and took me towards the parlor. "Rachel?" Mr. Wayne called. It took me a minute to realize that he was not calling me. It was a disadvantage to be given the name Rachel and then to be told that I couldn't go by it.

"In here, Bruce," a woman's voice floated out of the parlor.

"Stay here. I want to surprise your mother," Mr. Wayne said, kissing me gently. I couldn't argue with him so I sat down on a chair in the hallway and looked around. I was so busy looking at wall hangings I never noticed Mr. and Mrs. Wayne coming out of the parlor until I heard a soft gasp.

I turned at that moment. Mrs. Rachel Wayne was beautiful with brown hair and brown eyes that looked like river sludge as they looked at me. I didn't know what to say. Should I have said hello? What do you say to a mother that you hadn't seen since you were three?

I found out then I didn't have to say anything. Mrs. Wayne had covered the distance between us and had me in her arms before I could even blink. She was crying and kissing my cheeks at the same time. For the moment I just let her cry.


	4. First Dinner Together

Chapter 4- First Dinner Together

After Mrs. Wayne's joy and surprise over seeing me alive lessened some she and Mr. Wayne took me upstairs to my bedroom. Now it being considered my bedroom was still a strange novelty for me. It was even stranger the size of it. I had never seen a bedroom look so big in my life. I think was even too big to be really comfortable in it.

"What do you think of your room, Roberta?" Mrs. Wayne asked, stroking my hair gently as if she owned it.

"It's big," was all I could think of to say. My backpack was beside my bed. True to his word, Alfred had brought my stuff up here and the way it looked he didn't go nosing through my things.

"It was your room when you lived here," Mr. Wayne said. He might not have meant to sound abrupt, but he did. Was he upset that I couldn't remember? It wasn't my fault that my memories were scattered and fragmented.

Biting my lips I entered the huge room. I felt like I was in an old mausoleum. I seriously felt like a small flea and someone was going to step on me. I had felt myself shaking inwardly since I had found the milk carton. Now my shaking was on the outside. My knees gave way and I landed with a loud thud on the wooden floor.

It took me a couple of minutes to realize that Mrs. Wayne had come to my side and had wrapped her arms around me gently. For some strange reason she was a comfort. Normally when I was this upset I wanted my mother. The way I figured it Mrs. Wayne was a good substitute.

Looking at Mr. Wayne I wondered if he could substitute for my father. True, he had hugged me earlier, but he stood there with a stoic look on his face. I dismissed that thought that he could be like my father. As all of you can see I still wasn't ready to admit that the Waynes' were my parents. Never mind the fact that I looked enough like Mr. Wayne to be his duplicate.

I sat there on the floor, letting Mrs. Wayne rock me in her arms. I was tired, starting to feel hungry, and I couldn't stop shaking. I guess it was my nerves since I hadn't really eaten or slept in the past couple of days. The only thing I didn't do was start to cry. I know, I did it in Mr. Wayne's office, but for some stupid reason I couldn't here.

Mrs. Wayne must have been expecting me to. She rubbed my back gently, but that didn't make me want to cry. It just made me feel sleepy. "Rachel, let's get her on the bed. Roberta has got to be so tired," Mr. Wayne said, his voice sounding like it was coming from down a long tunnel.

"Oh. I am so sorry, Roberta," Mrs. Wayne apologized. I felt a strong pair of arms lift me from the floor and place me on the bed. It was so comfortable that I felt myself go to sleep instantly. This bed was nothing like the bed that I had when I went to visit my Indian relatives. That bed is made of braided leather and is like a bunkbed in a wall. This bed was soft and cool and the sheets were the softest silk. The quilt that Mrs. Wayne covered me with was made of taffeta. I just fell asleep, feeling like I was in a soft nest.

I woke up a twilight sun shining in my face. I felt like Frodo in "The Lord of the Rings" after he gets stabbed by the Ring-Wraiths on Weathertop and he wakes up to the sun shining on him and Gandalf the Wizard watching over him. The sun wasn't bright, but it gave my room a golden hue. I got out of bed and went to the window.

The view from this side of Wayne Manor was impressive. I felt as if I could look forever. It looked like a scene in two books I had read on Scotland and Ireland. As I stood there watching the scenery I didn't hear the door open until someone spoke in my ear, causing me to jump.

"I'm sorry, Miss Roberta, but your father asked that I check on you. He also says that if you are awake that it's time for dinner," Alfred apologized. The man looked really sorry so I decided to forgive him for scaring me.

"It's all right. Just let me brush my hair," I said, going over to my bag and pulling out my porcupine brush that a cousin had given me. Porcupines are really a lot better on your hair than a regular brush made from hog's bristles. At this point my hair was a shining and glittering thing. All you have to do is get the tail of a porcupine and turn it into a brush.

I unbraided my hair, taking care not to jerk and tug on the leather strips entwined with my long dark hair. I brushed my hair carefully. "What kind of brush is that, Miss?" Alfred asked, looking at my crude brush.

"Porcupine. It makes your hair shine," I said, laying the brush down and braiding my hair carefully. I went into my bathroom and washed my hands and face with lavender soap. I was finally ready to eat dinner. I just hoped dinner was something I could actually eat. Knowing how most white people are they very often eat food that shouldn't even be touched. Living among Indians I had picked up their dietary habits. I just hoped there was something like corn or beans on the table.

I followed Alfred into the dining room where Mr. and Mrs. Wayne sat at the table. Mrs. Wayne smiled at me as she came over to me and wrapped her arms around my shoulder. "Did you sleep well?" Mrs. Wayne asked, kissing my cheek gently.

"I guess so. I don't normally take naps. There's just too much to do during the day. At least I carry my valerian tea with me," I said, sitting down in the chair next to Mr. Wayne.

"Valerian tea?" Mr. Wayne asked, unfolding a linen napkin.

"Yeah. It's a plant that smells bad, but puts you to sleep. I take it nearly every night. It's pretty healthy," I said, looking at the covered dishes and praying silently over the food. Even if I couldn't eat it, it didn't hurt to pray.

I sat down in a chair on Mr. Wayne's right side. Mrs. Wayne sat across from me. I watched as Alfred opened the silver casings over the food. My stomach turned as I looked at hamburgers and French fries. I don't eat hamburgers. My meat intake is normally deer, bear and turkey meat, which taste really good and hardly have any grease on it to make me feel sick.

"How do you like your hamburger, Roberta?" Mrs. Wayne asked, taking my plate.

"I...I…I don't really eat hamburgers, Mrs. Wayne. I have a medical condition that prevents me from enjoying it," I said feebly, feeling like a wimp. My reaction to a hamburger was probably all in my head, but I wasn't about to test getting sick if I ate one.

"You get sick?" Mr. Wayne asked.

"Yes. I've been raised among Indians who don't eat cows. I eat some kinds of meat. Just not that one," I said, playing with the linen napkin beside my plate nervously.

"Is there anything you can eat instead, Miss Roberta?" Alfred asked.

"I eat vegetables. If you have corn, squash, or beans that will work," I said. It was a little abrupt, but I hated hamburgers. Anything to keep me from eating one was helpful. Alfred went into the kitchen, leaving me with my parents.

"I'm sorry. You used to love hamburgers when you were three. I just thought-"Mrs. Wayne started to say taking my hand in hers and stroking it gently. I felt sorry for her. Because of my eating habits I had ruined a meal. I had to say something to make her feel better.

"I'm sorry. I know you didn't know. But you two can eat the hamburgers. Just because I can't eat them doesn't mean that you two should let them go to waste," I said, hoping this made her feel better. I don't think it did, but there was nothing wrong with trying to make someone feel better.

The rest of the meal was awkward. I didn't know what to say to my parents. If I told them about my life among Indians they would get upset. If I told them what my father and mother were like they'd get upset and tell me that they weren't my parents. Either way I was failing miserably.

The rest of the night didn't really right itself after that. It seems as if I didn't have much to say to them and they didn't have much to say to me either. Also I was combating homesickness. This was different than the time I went to summer camp for two weeks. I knew that I would be home and with my parents after the two week period. This time I didn't know if I'd see my family again. And that's what made it hurt worse. My heart felt empty.


	5. Lost in Sorrow

Chapter 5- Lost in Sorrow

**A/N: I guess now this would be an alternate universe since Rachel died in "The Dark Knight. I'm sorry this part was so long in coming since I had other projects.**

Now I said that my first night at Wayne Manor I felt lonely and my heart felt empty. I've also said that I don't cry that much either. Well, that night I did. In that huge tomb of a bedroom I stayed awake for hours just crying. I had never felt so lonely or hungry in my entire life. At this point I'd wished I'd eaten a hamburger. Never mind the fact that if I had it would be all over the Wayne Family rosebushes in about an hour.

I woke up bleary-eyed the next day around six in the morning. Try as I might I just couldn't sleep well. I pulled on the sweatshirt and jeans I had worn for the past few days and my necklace from my Indian grandmother. I slipped out of my room and made my way outside to watch the sun come up.

This was always done when I was little. My dad and me would watch the sun come up. The day wouldn't start until we had seen the sun come up. My father had done the same thing with my grandfather. It was a Hamilton family tradition. I was so intent on watching that I didn't hear anyone walk beside me until they spoke.

"Roberta?" A voice next to my ear asked, nearly causing me to lose my seat on the low brick wall.

I turned and saw Mr. Wayne standing there, a look of concern in his light green eyes. "I'm not doing anything wrong! I just wanted to see the sun," I said defensively. I don't know why I felt I had to explain it to him, but I did.

"I'm not upset. I'm just wondering what you're doing. I saw you leave the mansion this morning and I wanted to see where you went," Mr. Wayne said, sitting down next to me.

"I've been doing this for as long as I can remember. Me and my dad used to do this every morning on the reservation. We'd go to the cornfields and just watch the sun come up. My dad would then tell me stories about the Seneca people. My favorite was the one about the woman in the moon who sews and when she turns her back her dog next to her unravels all she has sewn," I said, forgetting that Mr. Wayne didn't like me to say that Patrick Hamilton was my father.

"Roberta, you can't go out like this without permission. This isn't the reservation where you knew everyone. Even though we live in the country part of Gotham crime still happens out here. I don't want to see you get hurt," Mr. Wayne said firmly.

I didn't really know what to say to that. So I didn't say anything. I know Mr. Wayne wanted me to say something, but I'm not a conversationalist. Most people who know me know that small detail about me. Making me talk when I don't want to is like pulling my teeth out one by one.

"Roberta Wayne, I am talking to you," Mr. Wayne said sternly. I didn't know what he wanted me to say. I got the feeling that if I talked back I'd get in big trouble, but I couldn't think of anything to say without it sounding like I was talking back. At that moment I thought of my cell phone and decided to call my father. He would now what to do about this whole situation. This was becoming a nightmare and my dad might know what to do.

"What do you want me to say, Mr. Wayne?" I asked, finally asking the question that I was thinking. At this point I didn't care if it sounded rude. It was the truth.

"Roberta, you were wrong to leave the mansion. An apology might be good," Mr. Wayne said.

I was upset that he would try to make me apologize like I was three. Even my own father didn't do this. I stood up and walked away without saying anything. I didn't usually act this badly, but I didn't care. I just stormed off angrily and went to a secluded spot by myself.

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**Reader's point of view:**

Bruce entered the dining room a couple of hours later, hoping Roberta had come in for breakfast at least. Bruce still hadn't a clue as to what to do with his daughter. Roberta apparently liked her mother, but Bruce was lost on how to deal with a moody teenage girl.

He knew that if she came back this time she would be fourteen with opinions all her own, but seeing it didn't make it any easier. Having his daughter call him Mr. Wayne was a low blow to him.

Bruce sighed deeply as he sat down, feeling a pounding headache in his temples. He jumped slightly as Rachel touched his hand gently. "Bruce, are you okay?" Rachel asked a look of concern in her dark eyes.

"Did Roberta come in here?" Bruce asked as Alfred brought in breakfast.

"Not yet. I know that you went outside when we saw her leave the house," Rachel said.

"She's angry with me. She told me that she has been watching the sun come up with the man who took her since she left us," Bruce said stiffly.

"Bruce, maybe he didn't know. If you were him wouldn't you have accepted her as yours?" Rachel asked.

"I don't think so. I would have done a background check before someone dumped a three-year-old on my doorstep," Bruce said, rubbing his chin.

"Bruce, not everyone is you. This man made an honest mistake. They really thought that Roberta didn't have parents. I can't fault them," Rachel said as Roberta came into the room.

Roberta's hair was a mess and she sat without looking at him. "Roberta, are you all right?" Rachel asked, leaning forward slightly. Roberta nodded wordlessly.

"Miss, are you hungry?" Alfred asked, putting a bowl of hot oatmeal in front of her.

"A little bit. At least I can actually eat oatmeal without getting sick. My dad says it's all in my head about getting sick, but I'm not sure I want to tempt it," Roberta said, unfolding a napkin slowly.

"Roberta, after we eat how'd you like to go shopping with me? We can buy you some new clothes," Rachel said, changing the subject before Bruce could say anything about Patrick Hamilton not being her father. Her calling another man "Dad" was a cheap shot to him.

"Are you sure? My mom says I'm the worst person to shop with. You should've seen Easter dresses when I was five. I don't like pink and a lot of dresses never hit me as overly beautiful," Roberta said.

"I'll risk it. We also are enrolling you in a private school so we need to go shopping for your school uniforms," Rachel said, smiling.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Roberta said, picking dully at her oatmeal.

A cell phone rang and Roberta fished it out of her pants pocket. She rolled her eyes. "Great. It's my annoying cousin, Jane," Roberta flipped open the phone. Bruce was in for a shock. Roberta started to talk in another language that he couldn't even begin to understand! The only thing he did understand was that she didn't sound happy.

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**Rachel's point of view:**

"What do you want, Jane?" I asked sharply in Seneca.

"Your father called last night and told us what happened. I'm sorry, Cousin," Jane said.

"Thank you, but that still doesn't tell me why you're calling," I clipped my words short.

"Grandmother asked me to call. She wants to know if you're coming down for the corn harvest. The Three Sisters are close to ripe," Jane said.

I rolled my eyes annoyed and switched my answer to English for Mr. and Mrs. Wayne's benefit besides my cousin's. "Have I ever missed the harvest of the Three Sisters? They are always together and can never be separated," I said. The Three Sisters are the staples of food that the Seneca eat; corn, beans, and squash. To the Seneca they grow together and are picked together.

"Just checking. Your father said that you were upset and you probably won't," Jane said, switching to English.

"Not happening. I'd never miss anything as important as all that. Do I look that dumb to you?" I asked, not bothering to switch to English. I'd rather the Wayne's' not hear this particular conversation.

"No, not really. So how are you going to come?" Jane asked.

"Don't really know yet. You got any ideas that'd work?" I asked.

"Can't you hop on a train or bus?" Jane asked.

"I could, but I'm going to be dead on my feet from exhaustion by the time I get there. Grandmother will have a double conniption fit once she takes a good look at me," I said.

"Well, let's keep thinking about it. I'll call you later, Baby Cousin," Jane said, disconnecting the line.

"You're only two years older, Jane," I muttered in English under my breath as I snapped my phone lid closed and sat down in my chair.

"That was interesting," Mr. Wayne said, reminding me that he and his wife were in the same room.

"I guess. I wish my uncle had called and not my cousin," I said, tamping down my oatmeal with my spoon.

"I take it you don't like Jane," Mrs. Wayne said.

"I don't dislike her. She's just an annoying older cousin who doesn't know how to shut up. My favorite cousin is her little brother, Tommy. He's two and whenever I go to the reservation I baby-sit," I said, taking a miniscule bite of oatmeal.

"So what was she asking for, Roberta?" Mr. Wayne asked.

"Nothing important. Why do you think I talked in Seneca?" I asked, being vague with my answer.

"Either that or you didn't want me and your mother to know what this conversation was about," Mr. Wayne said, his voice one of false cheer.

"Boy, you catch on fast! You must have been talking to my dad. He always knows when I do something stupid. Which could be counted on one hand," I said, finishing the last bite of oatmeal.

Mr. Wayne's eyes got hard. "Take it easy, Bruce," I heard Mrs. Wayne say under her breath.

"How long did it take you to learn another language, Miss Roberta?" Alfred asked after a few minutes of silence.

"I don't really remember that much. My dad said I caught on quick though. By the time I was five I knew key phrases and enough to carry on a good conversation. And that's a good thing since my grandmother can't speak a word of English and we have to talk to her in the Seneca tongue or get a translator," I said, brushing a stray lock of dark hair out of my eyes.

My cell then rang again. "What now?" I looked at the window on my cell phone. "Great. It's Mom," I said, opening the cell phone.

"Hello, Mother," I said in a strained tone.

"Hello, Dear. How's it going?" Mom asked.

"Mom, do you know you squawk like a chicken when you talk?" I asked. Mrs. Wayne had this pained look on her face, but I turned my back ignoring her.

"Very funny. Jane just called," Mom said the high pitched breathiness out of her voice.

""Hmmm. What did she want?" I asked.

"She told me that you are coming down for the corn harvest," Mom said. I closed my eyes briefly and counted to ten.

"I'm thinking about it. It's just hard to think up a way where I can. Mom, do you think you and Daddy could-"I started to ask.

"Rachel," Mom said simply.

"Mom, I'm serious. I've never missed the corn harvest. You know that better than anyone," I whispered softly as I got up and went to an area where I knew I couldn't be overheard.

"Rachel, be fair about this. Bruce and Rachel Wayne are your parents," Mom said. Tears came to my eyes and suddenly I didn't care if I was seen crying or not.

"I don't care! I just want to come home, Mom. You and Dad are my parents too!" my voice rising so high I was going into hysterics.

Mr. Wayne stood up, a concerned look in his green eyes. "Rachel, we're sorry," Mom said, in an attempt to soothe.

"Sure. Everyone's always sorry. That's what everyone says, Mom. I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed and have Dad try to embarrass me with stories of me as a little girl in front of my friends," I said, my voice splintered like broken china as I disconnected the line.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I all but ran out of the dining room and up the stairs. I flung myself onto the window seat and cried for what seemed like hours.


	6. Secret Passages and a Shock

Chapter 6- Secret Passages

Now I had just run out of the room in tears. Now besides the fact that I was upset about missing the corn harvest I was distressed about crying in front of people in general. It was just embarrassing and demeaning.

I ran into my room and leaned against a wall. Now I wasn't trying to find anything. I had always heard that mansions had secret passages, but it never occurred that I would find one in the mansion. I guess I was just thinking that those kinds of things you saw on TV or read in books.

I leaned against the wall and the wall gave way. I scrambled about to my feet in a semi-dark tunnel. The only light I could see came from my room. The air was chilly and I heard squeaks; which were from either mice or bats. The place was nothing more than a huge cave.

I went down the corridor and past an elevator. I paused and looked back. Elevator? Why would a cave have an elevator? Judging from the old antiqueness of it the elevator was more than a hundred years old. The chains holding it were rusted.

I was so wrapped up in looking at the elevator than I nearly missed the footsteps. A heavy step got my attention and I crawled behind a rocky ledge, peeking out slightly. "Mr. Wayne and Alfred stopped by the elevator.

"Sir, is Miss Roberta going to be okay?" Alfred asked. I realized they were talking about me.

"I think so. She's had a lot to handle in the last few days. Alfred, make sure she doesn't find her way down here. I don't want to give her something else to think about," Mr. Wayne said.

"Very good, Sir, but won't Miss Roberta find out eventually?" Alfred asked, looking nervous.

"It'll be better for her if she doesn't. Rachel was nearly killed by the Joker. I don't want it repeated with Roberta. The less she knows, the better," Mr. Wayne said.

"Very well. I'll make sure she doesn't find her way in here," Alfred finally agreed.

_Too late, _I thought as the two of them entered the elevator. To my surprise the thing moved. I don't know how. It was so rusted I thought it'd never work again. I waited until it was out of sight before getting back on my feet. I then made my way back to my room. Fortunately the elevator wasn't far from it.

My room was incredibly warm after being in the chilly cave. I closed the wall. I'd try to find the spring later that opened the door. I wanted to explore that cave a little more. With Mr. Wayne there I couldn't. I'd wait until I knew for sure that he wasn't going to be there and that Alfred was somewhere else.

I scrambled up on my windowseat and looked out at the dreary landscape. I heard the door open softly. "Roberta?" Mrs. Wayne's voice asked gently and I felt a soft hand on my shoulder.

I turned and looked at her. "Are you ready to go? I got the credit card from your father and Alfred is waiting for us," Mrs. Wayne said.

"I guess so," I said, following Mrs. Wayne out of my bedroom.

Mr. Wayne came out into the hallway from a study at the end of it. He had changed from his casual clothes to one of his nicer suits. Like the one I had seen yesterday. It was a brown tweed jacket and pants with a striped shirt and a tie.

"Well, ladies, I have to go to work. Roberta you have fun. Here's some money. You go and get something that you'd like," Mr. Wayne said, giving me a fifty dollar bill. I was surprised. I have seen fifty dollars before, but I usually got it by doing hard chores around the house or reservation. No one has ever given me money when I haven't earned it.

"Whoah!!" I muttered under my breath, holding the money in my hand.

"I figure since you got so upset I think you deserve a treat," Mr. Wayne said, smiling briefly and an amused look on his face.

"Thank you. No one has ever given me money before when I didn't work for it," I said without thinking of how that would sound.

"It's nothing. I can afford to give you something nice," Mr. Wayne said, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pulling my head into his chest. The rich scent of his cologne was on the shirt he wore and he stroked my hair gently.

"Well, Bruce, we'd better go. I don't know her size and it'll be a long day. We'll have to start from scratch with her clothes. Of course the Hamilton's' will send us the rest of her things too," Mrs. Wayne said.

"If that's the case then why buy me more clothes?" I asked, following Mrs. Wayne out to the Rolls. Alfred opened the door for both of us and we got into the backseat.

"We are enrolling you in Gotham Private and we need some uniforms. Also me and your father go out to fundraisers and you need some nice clothes for that. The media is going to be looking at you and you can't wear that sweatshirt and jeans in front of the camera," Mrs. Wayne explained.

"Oh. Well, it's your money," I said casually. I really didn't want to go clothes shopping, but I guess it didn't hurt to have a few new clothes. Most of my clothes were hand-me-downs from the cousins. Since I have two cousins that are 4 or 5 years older than me then I'm the cousin next in line to get their clothes. After me my ten-year-old cousin, Julie, will be next followed by my five-year-old cousin, Jennie.

"Where do you normally shop for clothes?" Mrs. Wayne asked.

"The only thing I buy from anywhere is shoes, socks and underwear. I normally go to Wal-mart for those. Everything else I have on is stuff my cousins wore. They've outgrown them and since I'm next in line for it I have to wear it. Then my two little cousins, Julie and Jennie, will be the next ones to wear my clothes," I said.

"Hand-me-downs?" Mrs. Wayne questioned, wrinkling her nose.

"Yep. My uncle said that since he has two daughters older than me that they might want to save Dad a fortune in shopping for clothes," I said, looking out the window.

"Well, it's a good thing then that we're buying you new clothes," Mrs. Wayne said, a relieved tone in her voice.

"Hand-me-downs aren't so bad. We just have to be careful not to rip the clothes because the next person who wears it won't appreciate that," I said, trying not to let on that Mrs. Wayne had hurt my feelings by insulting my family's thrift in not buying me everything in the way of fashion.

"And how does that work out for you, Miss Roberta?" Alfred asked from the front seat.

'Pretty well, actually. In Seneca families we don't ruin anything. Jane was very careful before she let me have all the clothes she outgrew. I'll have to do the same when my cousin, Julie, gets my clothes," I said, looking out the window at the drab landscape. Unlike where I lived or the reservation Gotham was ugly. It was dreary and the trash littering the sidewalks was really gross.

I only hoped the shopping wouldn't take too long. I also looked at the fifty dollars in my hand. Gotham wasn't far from upstate New York where the main Seneca reservation was. The way I figured it I could use the money Mr. Wayne gave me and go to the corn harvest.

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I came into the Wayne family living room, later that night, wearing one of the new outfits that Mrs. Wayne had gotten me. She had asked if I could wear one to dinner since Mr. Wayne was planning to take us out. Mr. Wayne stood, his green eyes shining as he looked at me.

"You look beautiful, Roberta," Mr. Wayne said, cupping my face gently.

"Thank you," I said as we got into another awkward silence.

"So, do you like your clothes?" Mr. Wayne attempted to say.

"They're all right. Shopping isn't really my thing," I said.

"Your mom told me. She said you wear second-hand clothes?" Mr. Wayne asked, stroking my hair gently.

"Yeah. Five girl cousins and my dad couldn't afford name brands," I said, keeping my voice low. I knew that Mr. Wayne hated that I called Patrick Hamilton my dad, but I seriously didn't know what to call him. Fortunately Mr. Wayne chose to let that one slide.

"Well, I guess we can just box up what you have from those girls and send it to the next one in line to wear them," Mr. Wayne said, attempting fake cheer; a bad move on his part. If anything I hate it when people use false cheer.

"It must be killing you to have to make small talk with your daughter," I said bitterly before I could stop myself. Mr. Wayne looked shocked. He looked as if I had slapped him across the mouth.

"It does when the daughter doesn't help," Mr. Wayne said, his eyes and voice hard.

"Well, excuse me, _Mr. _Wayne. I'm not a conversationalist. Ask my parents. They'll tell you. So stop trying to make me talk to you," I said sharply as I ran out of the room and upstairs to my room, locking the door to my bedroom. I didn't care that I was missing the dinner Mr. Wayne wanted to take me and Mrs. Wayne to.

I went to my closet and changed back into my sweatshirt and jeans. I went to the wall where I had found the secret entrance to the cave. Feeling along the wall I found the catch the released the door. I picked up the flashlight that I had gotten from girl scouts and shone it down the cave walls.

I managed to get open the elevator doors and stepped inside. Pulling a lever I held on as it lowered me. I went walking as if uphill into a spacious cavern, full of computers and a vault. I went up to the vault and tried to open it. Just my luck! It was locked.

I was nearly distracted when the sounds of footsteps came down to me. I had barely hidden myself when Mr. Wayne and Alfred came back.

"Sir, what are you going to do?" Alfred asked.

"About what, Alfred? Roberta or the city?" Mr. Wayne asked.

"Both, Sir. Miss Roberta needs you as much as the city needs Batman," Alfred said, touching my father's shoulder.

"I know, but I can be there for both Roberta and the city. She'll realize how much I love her; that I never stopped. But the city needs me right now. If I can't do it as Bruce Wayne I can do it as Batman," Mr. Wayne said, walking over to the vault and opened it carefully.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head and I held my hand over my mouth so they wouldn't hear me gasp. **MY FATHER WAS BATMAN!!!!** The suit was there larger than life and suddenly it made sense why he didn't want me to find this place earlier. I sunk down, trying to control my breathing.

"Alfred, don't you and Rachel wait up," Mr. Wayne said, his voice slightly gravelly as if he had laryngitis. I rose up slightly. My father was all dressed in the batsuit, I couldn't see his face that well since it was covered and he was getting into an armored car.

"What about Miss Roberta? She might ask where you are," Alfred said.

"Tell her I went out on business," Batman said as he started the engine and drove through a waterfall. I waited until Alfred left and then I made my way back to my room. I took short, harsh gasps of air as I sank to my knees. My father was Batman? Why did he wear the suit? Couldn't he have done this as Bruce Wayne?

I knew then I had to leave for the reservation. I had explored the mansion earlier and knew how to sneak out without being seen. Little did I know that Batman would see me leave Gotham that night.


	7. Getting Caught and Reunion

Chapter 7- Being Caught and Homecoming

A**/N: I'm going to start putting some history of the Seneca in here which comes from a book I have by the author Lois Lenski named "Indian Captive." It's a story based off a real Seneca captive named Mary "Molly" Jemison. Of course the woman who wrote it got a lot of sources too from other authors. Such as Indian myths and ways of life.**

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**Reader's point of view: **

Bruce thought it was good that the city was quiet tonight. Most people had learned by now not to commit crimes in his city. True, there were the criminals like the Joker who kept coming back after Bruce would put them in jail, but by now, even the petty robbers stayed off the streets.

For right now though, Bruce, even though he was relieved that all was quiet, he'd take a purse snatching to get his mind off his problems with his daughter. Bruce had been told that Roberta would be a teenager and Alfred had even commented this morning that raising a teenager would be the hardest thing he had ever done as Bruce Wayne or Batman.

Roberta was, in many ways, like him; stubborn and quiet. Watching her cry over not being able to go to the reservation unnerved him. Bruce was willing to let her go if she had even asked him, but Roberta wouldn't.

Bruce looked over at the bus depot. A lot of people were going out of town tonight. There were two buses. One going to Colorado and the other to Upstate New York Bruce watched the crowds as they swarmed towards the buses. One kid in a baseball cap, faded blue jeans, and a white sweatshirt made his way towards the Upstate New York bus. Halfway there his hat fell off, revealing a girl instead of a boy.

Bruce started as he looked at the kid. He should have recognized the clothes sooner! Roberta was getting on a bus, looking around apprehensively. She relaxed as she stepped up into the bus and it took off in the direction of New York State.

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**Rachel/Roberta's POV:**

I couldn't believe I made it! I almost thought I'd get caught by the police or, even Batman. But I hadn't seen either. I didn't know until much later, when Mr. Wayne confronted me about it, that Batman had seen me leave. I was calm in the fact that I could leave as quietly as I entered. That it would seem as if I had never even come to Gotham in the first place.

I snuggled down in my seat, ready to fall asleep. Now sleep on a bus is bad, but I'm like a cat. I can sleep on a stone slab with no problems if the situation arose. I guess it's from all those times I visited my grandparents and I slept on braided leather. I fell asleep, feeling like my brain was getting foggy.

I woke up around midnight, rubbing my eyes and sitting up. The reservation was two or three miles from here. I could barely see the Susquehanna River and hear the waterfalls that were on the edge of the reservation itself. I figured I'd better start walking. At this time of night and year the air was freezing. But with it being so close to Canada the first snowfall could be soon. That's why we had to get the corn in for the fall harvest. No one wanted to be surprised by snow.

I started hiking. I used to walk these trails with my cousins when I visited, but it was harder to see at midnight. I carefully walked, following the banks of the Susquehanna River and made it to the reservation at two in the morning. I stopped at the meeting-house.

To a Seneca, or any other type of Indian, the meeting-house was where all business relating to the Iroquois Nation was determined. The tribal chiefs-one of them being my uncle-listened to all matters concerning the general population of Indians in this region. The Senecas are known as the keepers of the Western Door and are swift runners. We always delievered messages and came to the aide of the other branches of the Iroquois nation when they needed us.

The sacred fire, which is lit every morning in the council-house was still felt at this time. It wasn't completely out and the glowing embers were still laying there. I got down on the floor, the embers glowing on me.

I fell asleep, feeling better here than I did in that tomb that Mr. and Mrs. Wayne called my bedroom.

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I woke up to Indian voices jabbering close to my ear. Forcing my eyelids open I saw my uncle and the other 9 tribal chiefs looking at me. "Rachel, what are you doing here?" My uncle asked as I stood up, trying to straighten my dark, tangled hair.

"Like I told Jane, I never miss a corn harvest," I said, taking care to speak in the Seneca language. Most of us knew English since we all have to deal with the White man's world, but here all of us try to speak the language that has lasted for centuries. Even though I'm a White girl with green eyes a lot of the people say that I speak the old Indian language better than a lot of Senecas. For all of you reading this I wasn't really calling my cousin Jane and my uncle didn't just call me Rachel.

Among the Seneca we each have an Indian name that describes something about us. But to all of you I'll use our White names.

"Rachel, we were told that you weren't coming," Uncle Peter said, sighing deeply and placing his hands on my shoulders.

"Who told you that? My mother or Jane?" I asked.

"My brother did. He and your mother arrived last night and told us what happened," Uncle Peter said.

"I see, but I'm here now, Uncle. I'd like to stay for the harvest," I said as my uncle led me to my grandfather's house. I have always loved my grandfather's house. He had built it with the help of other members of my grandmother's clan when they had married and it had stood for nearly 30 years.

My grandfather stood in front of his house, smoking his pipe. He was one of five White men who had married Indian women in our tribe. He had startling blue eyes and his hair was once brown, but looked steel-gray. Of course neither my father or uncle looked like him.

"Grandpa!" I exclaimed, jumping into his arms.

"Rachel," Grandpa said, stroking my dark hair gently as he hugged me. He pulled me back to look into my eyes.

"I've missed you, Grandpa," I said, burying my face into my grandfather's chest. I felt like I was three years old again. My memories of the Waynes' were fragmented, but I do remember meeting my grandfather years ago. My most poignant memory was tripping on a shoelace and him picking me up in his strong arms and wiping away my tears.

"What are you doing here, Rachel?" Grandpa asked

"I didn't want to miss the harvest, Grandpa," I said meekly. Grandpa was pretty easygoing as they come, but when he became stern honesty was the best policy.

"Well, I guess Patrick will have something to say about that," Grandpa said, a crease marring his normally placid forehead as he led me into the house.

A jubilant scream filled my ears as my grandmother ran towards me and hugged me tightly. My grandmother was tiny and the top of her head stopped at my shoulder. Her face was starting to show its age with laugh lines and wrinkles and her hair was still black with silver streaks in it.

Grandmother held me at arms length and looked into my eyes. "You look tired and hungry, Rachel. Didn't they feed you there?" Grandmother said as she led me to the scarred oak table my grandfather had made.

"Not very well. I can't eat cow meat," I admitted as she set a plate full of corn pone and venison in front of me. I started to eat as though half-starved. I'll even admit to foregoing my manners and eating like a pig. I just shoveled it in with my fingers I was so hungry.

I looked up as my mother came out of the room she and my father slept in whenever we visited the reservation. Now my mom is one of those people who, even though her hair's a mess and wears no makeup in the morning, still looks gorgeous. Now was no exception. I honestly don't know how she does it. Most people wake up looking like any monster from the old monster flicks my dad likes. For my mom tangled hair is _IN._

"Rachel?" Mom gasped as her face turned pale. That's another thing my mother is known for. Her skin turns marble-white at the drop of a hat. With her neck-length, pale-blonde hair is makes her look positively ghostly. My dad came out of the room then, his dark eyes a mixture of two expressions. One was happiness and the other was either anger or annoyance. I could never be sure which when my father got upset.

"Rachel, what are you doing here?" Dad demanded, sitting down next to me as I took a long drink of mint tea that my grandmother set in front of me.

"I don't miss a harvest," I said. My dad was like my grandfather. I couldn't look him in the eye and lie. He always knew when I was lying to him anyways.

"Does Mr. Wayne know you're here?" My father persisted. At this point I wished my dad was happy to see me, but I guess he was asking valid questions that needed answers.

"No. I left without telling him. I don't want to live with him and his wife. I want to live with you and Mom," I said, feeling tears burn my eyes. Dad looked at me hard before answering.

"Rachel, I wish you could too. But we have to be fair. You can't always have what you want," Dad said, cupping my face gently.

"But, Dad, I can't live with them. They insulted the clothes Uncle Peter gave me and they're putting me in private school and Mr. Wayne gets upset when I call you "Dad." I said, feeling like if anyone understood me it would be Dad.

"If I was Bruce Wayne I would too. He was your father first, Rachel. Now, after you have rested for a day or two I'm going to call him. I hope he's forgiving," Dad said, ending the subject with finality. I knew with that the subject was closed. But maybe Mr. Wayne would understand that I still needed my mom and dad.


	8. Investigations and Visitors

Chapter 8- Investigations and Visitors arrive

**Reader's pov:**

Bruce sat in front of the computer trying to figure out where the bus Roberta was on would be going into New York. Roberta had said that she had lived on a reservation, but that didn't do much for him since his search engine had come up with two reservations. One was in Upstate New York; the other was close to the River Ohio.

Bruce rubbed his eyes tiredly and nearly jumped as Rachel wrapped her arms around him, kissing his cheek. "Did you find her?" Rachel asked, sitting down on his lap.

"I'm working on it. There are two reservations that she could possibly be at. There's the one in New York or she could have changed buses and gone to the one on the Ohio River. I don't know, Rachel. Why didn't she ask us if she could go? I would have let her if she asked," Bruce said wearily.

"I don't know, Bruce. I think she's scared. If I found out that the people who raised me weren't my parents and I had to live with two people I didn't know, I'd be frightened too. I think Roberta feels as if she lives with us she's going to lose what she has had for the last 12 years. She wants to hold on to it," Rachel said, rubbing Bruce's cramped shoulders gently.

"I love you," Bruce said, smiling.

"I know. And if Roberta does come back we have to show her every day that we love her. That I didn't lie in that hospital bed for nearly two days because we didn't love her," Rachel said as the phone rang.

Bruce picked it up, hoping it was Roberta. "Hello?" Bruce answered hoping Roberta was calling.

"Bruce Wayne?" Another man's voice asked on the line.

"Yes?" Bruce Wayne asked.

"I'm Patrick Hamilton," the other man said. Bruce closed his eyes heavily. It was the man who had taken his daughter!

"Is Roberta all right?" Bruce asked in a voice he didn't recognize as his own.

"She's here on the reservation. I told her that I'd call you so you could come get her yourself," Patrick said, surprising Bruce.

"Why are you doing this?" Bruce asked.

"Whether you believe me or not I never would have taken your daughter, Wayne. I wanted a son or daughter, but not at the expense of what you and your wife suffered," Patrick said.

"Then why didn't you check the facts before you accepted my baby as yours?" Bruce asked through clenched teeth.

"I don't know! All I know is that we've got a frightened little girl here who's afraid she's losing everything she loves. Right now she needs support and love from her mom and dad. All four of us," Patrick said, his voice like steel.

"You and your wife are not her mom and dad," Bruce said.

"We might as well be. She's been calling me "Daddy" since she came to live with us. You may have given her life, but we gave her love and we raised her," Patrick said.

"What reservation are you living on?" Bruce asked, this battle taking more out of him than he was willing to admit to anyone.

"The reservation's in upstate New York. It's on the Susquehanna River," Patrick said.

"All right. Me and my wife, Rachel will be there as soon as we can. Does Roberta know we're coming?" Bruce asked, writing down what Patrick just told him on a pad of paper.

"She thinks I'm calling you in two days. I told her she could get her strength back since she's nearly dead on her feet," Patrick said.

"All right. Thank you," Bruce said. He disconnected the line.

"Is she all right?" Rachel asked a worried look in her brown eyes.

"Yes. She doesn't know we are coming though. Rachel, she's in Upstate New York. I told him we'd both come down there," Bruce said.

"If that's what you told him then let's go. Are you going to tell her that that you caught her running away?" Rachel asked as they made their way to their bedroom.

"How do I tell her that I caught her doing that while I was Batman? The safest thing to say is that Batman told us what she was doing," Bruce said as they packed their suitcases.

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**Roberta/Rachel's POV:**

Now I know that I was supposed to be resting, but after a few hours of sleep I was out with the best of the Seneca women. For centuries Seneca women did everything in the way of being homemakers. They were the ones who picked the crops while the husbands and sons hunted.

These days husbands and sons don't have to hunt quite as much, but a woman's job never ends. We get the firewood while the men gather in the meeting longhouses and smoke ceremonial pipes and gamble at times. The only men in the village that didn't participate in gambling were my father, grandfather, and uncle. To them gambling was a sin and the other men of the village didn't pressure them to join in the games.

The air was still a little nippy as we made our way to the cornfields. I was with my cousins and all of us had gathering baskets attached to burden-straps. The women of our tribe still wouldn't ask the men to carry the baskets when they were full. We used the old burden-straps. This time I didn't have to carry Tommy on my back.

The trick to the burden-strap was to bend over and turn your toes in as you walked. I didn't have to do that now, but when my basket was full I would. If I didn't I would fall and spill all I picked. The head chief's wife would scold me for being careless. I would avoid the scolding if I could.

"So, how did they let you come?" Jane asked, staying in step with me.

"They didn't. I left all my own," I said, wishing Jane would leave me alone. My other cousin wasn't as obnoxious as Jane and Julie and Jennie hadn't reached that age of being a condescending cousin who thinks she knows everything.

"You ran away?" Jane asked, raising her dark eyebrows.

"What of it? You would have to if you saw Batman and you had to make small talk to a man who got upset if you called another man your father," I blurted out without thinking of what I was saying. I cringed. Jane was going to rake me over the coals.

Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates. "You saw Batman? What was he like?" Jane asked. I wished I had kept my mouth shut. How do I tell people Mr. Wayne was Batman? I know he'd probably not like it if I told. So I was going to do him one favor and not say anything.

"He didn't know I saw him. It was kinda a brief moment yesterday," I said, figuring I could tell that much truth. I figured it would be safer if I told half the truth and not the whole truth about finding my way into a cave and seeing Mr. Wayne in a batsuit.

We arrived at the cornfield and got to work. There is nothing like picking corn, beans, and squash. Most people hate the feeling of dirt on their hands and under their fingernails, but I had always loved the moist dirt. I got to work, taking my mind off my problems.

The day went by fast. The next thing I knew the sun was sinking and I didn't feel any aches and pains until I stopped. My basket was pretty full along with everyone else's as we made our way back to the village. I toddled slowly so I could dump my basket. My knees cracked unmercifully as I made my way back to the cabin and opened the door. I felt all the blood drain out of my face at what I saw. Bruce and Rachel Wayne stood there talking to my parents and out of the corner of my eye I saw Alfred.

The room got quiet as every adult looked at me. Mr. Wayne's eyes were hard to read. I didn't know if he was angry and wanted to punish me or if he wanted to hug me tightly. Mrs. Wayne beat him to the hug. She all but ran to me and nearly squeezed the air out of me.

"Are you all right? We were so worried!" She asked, kissing me through my dark hair.

"I think so. How did you know where I was?" I asked as she cupped my cheeks gently.

"We didn't. Dr. Hamilton called and told us," Mrs. Wayne said. I looked at Dad who looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Thanks for sticking up for me, Dad," I said frostily. He said he was going to call them in two days and he lied.

"I've always stuck up for you, Rachel, but they needed to know where you were," Dad said, his eyes mirroring Mr. Wayne's who was standing next to him.

"Dad, you said that you wouldn't call them for two days. I can't believe you conned your own daughter," I said, still not ready to forgive Dad yet. If I was paying closer attention I could see that Mr. Wayne was looking upset again. But at the moment all my attention was on Dad.

I removed the burden-strap and basket and hung them next to Mom's and Grandmother's. "Rachel, time to eat," Grandmother said in her calm rolling way.

Grandmother was apparently going to be the voice of reason in all this. She is one of those women who believes that a person thinks better and is less cranky if he or she eats. I'm undecided on that one. At this moment I don't think food would help the situation, but I was in enough trouble for running away and backtalking to my dad.

I sat at the table, Mr. Wayne sitting next to me. He covered my hand with his large one. "Did you think you could leave Gotham without being noticed?" Mr. Wayne asked.

"How did you know I left? I was kind of hoping I could leave as quietly as I entered. It would look as if I'd never come at all," I said morosely as Grandmother put succotash in front of me. The smell caused my stomach to churn slightly and I touched the warm, shallow bowl.

"Batman was by the bus depot. He saw you leave. He then told me and your mother," Mr. Wayne said. I put down my spoon with a shaking hand. Mr. Wayne had seen me leave as Batman? Also why did he make it sound as if Batman and Bruce Wayne were two different people when they were the same man?

"Like I really care if some flying rodent caught me leaving? He looks like years of therapy just waiting to happen," I said, clipping my words short as I took a miniscule bite of bean and squash.

My mother shot me a warning look. "Rachel, watch your mouth! I know we didn't teach you to talk trash to grownups," Dad said, looking pretty angry himself.

"Dad, you're not my father. Why do you care if I backtalk?" I asked, knowing that my father was at the limit of all the sassing he'd take from me.

"That's right I'm not your father by blood, but I did raise you and I know I've taught you to have more respect for adults," Dad said, his voice as cold as the frigid air outside.

"Easy, Patrick," Mom said, touching my father's broad shoulder. My mom was a catalyst when my father was upset. She could normally stop him from tearing anyone apart by a simple touch on the arm.

"I am sorry, Daddy. I thought by leaving Gotham and Cedar Rapids I was doing the right thing," I said, thinking I wasn't doing myself any favors by being snappish to all four of my parents.

My dad gave me this longsuffering look. "Rachel, you're fourteen. You don't know what's best for you. If you were grownup you wouldn't have lied about the milk carton. You would have shown it to us right away," Dad said, his voice calmer now, but hitting close enough to cause tears to form.

"I guess I was mad at you. You lied to me too. You said there was a fire on the reservation and my birth certificate went with it," I said. My father couldn't dispute that bit of logic.

I calmly finished the last bite of corn on my plate and stood, my knees cracking again. "Ow!!!" I whimpered, leaning over and rubbing my knees gently.

"Roberta?" Mrs. Wayne asked a concerned look on her face.

"I'm fine. Just a little tired. Those burden-straps can really bear into your back, legs, and forehead," I said, starting to rub my forehead as I carried my bowl to the sink. I washed it out and put it into the dishwasher. This was the only modern convenience, other than the phone and indoor plumbing Grandmother allowed. Everything else was like it had been 200 hundred years ago when the first white men came into this country. It had taken a fight just to allow a bathtub with running hot water into the house and to install the phone.

"Roberta, please. Just talk to us. I know you're upset, but we do love you," Mr. Wayne said.

"What do you want me to say? I wanted to come here. I do four times a year," I said, taking care that I wasn't sassing Mr. Wayne this time.

"Did you have any idea how scared we'd be?" Mr. Wayne asked, grabbing my shoulders and looking into my eyes.

"I wasn't thinking about that. I am sorry I scared you, but you scare me," I blurted out before I could stop myself. The man was Batman. He had put people in the hospital. I had heard of one man whose legs Batman had broken while he was interrogating them. How was I to know that if I made Mr. Wayne mad he wouldn't slap me around?

"Robbie, what are you talking about?" Mr. Wayne asked a look of concern in his green eyes.

I leaned close to his ear. "I know who you are, Batman," I whispered low enough for him to hear, but not anyone else. A look of surprise replaced the concern, followed by a look of dread. Something told me that he hadn't wanted me to find out this secret. I think he thought I was going to tell everyone.


	9. A Better Understanding

Chapter 9- A Better Understanding

**Bruce's POV: **

Bruce stared at his daughter in shock. She had found out his secret! How had she? He had worked hard to keep that part of his life from her since the first time he had held her in his arms after she was born. He had promised Rachel that Batman wouldn't endanger his daughter and that she would never see her father while he was Batman.

But she had seen him in his suit! Bruce couldn't begin to imagine how she had, but the fear in her light-green eyes as she looked at him was enough to give him concern. Roberta was afraid of him! Bruce had never wanted his baby girl to be scared of him, but she was.

While he had been hard on the criminal elements he loved Rachel and Roberta. Alfred and Rachel still loved to tease him about how many diapers he had changed when Roberta was a baby and how he had helped Rachel give her a bath. It was enough to make a grown man cry.

Bruce gently touched his daughter's slim shoulders. She flinched slightly. "Robbie, I would never hurt you," Bruce whispered softly for her ears only.

"How do I know? I read-"Roberta said, her green eyes like mirror glass.

"May I talk with my daughter in private, Dr. Hamilton?" Bruce asked, standing up to look at Patrick.

"Of course. We'll all go to my brother's house," Dr. Hamilton said discreetly. Roberta's face blanched in terror.

"Dad, please," Roberta said softly as the doctor, wife, and his parents exited.

"Rachel, you have to talk to them. I know you're terrified, but you're going to have to meet them halfway on this," Patrick said, kissing her cheek gently before walking out the door.

"You have no idea," Bruce heard Roberta mutter under her breath.

"Bruce, what's going on?" Rachel asked, sitting next to their daughter. Alfred sat on the other side, looking equally concerned.

"Rachel, she knows. She saw me as Batman," Bruce said. There was no point in hiding this from Rachel. She had always known when Bruce was lying about anything. Rachel went ashen.

"How did you?" Rachel asked their daughter, stroking her hair gently.

"Purely by accident, I assure you. I was in that cave you call a bedroom and I leaned against a wall and I found myself in the cave. I then decided to explore last night. I made my way down the cavern and heard you and Alfred coming. You were talking about me and Gotham and then I saw you in your suit," Roberta said in a small voice.

"Roberta, I'm sorry. I was trying to make it where you'd never know. I didn't want you to be afraid of me ever," Bruce said sitting down and taking her hand in his.

"A little too late. You're Batman. I've read the newspaper articles. It says you killed Harvey Dent and broke a mobster's legs," Roberta said, swallowing hard.

"I'd never hurt you and your mother. You are the reason I've been Batman for as long as I have. I know you don't believe me, but I'll keep saying it until you do," Bruce said firmly.

Roberta took a couple of shaking breaths. "Did you really kill Harvey Dent?" Roberta asked.

"No I didn't. I know you're scared of me, Roberta. But I don't kill anyone ever. There is one rule I have and I never break that one rule. When you were born I came close once, but I stopped myself when you came to mind. I thought could I look my daughter in the eye if I ever killed anyone," Bruce said, touching her shoulder gently.

Roberta looked at his hand on her shoulder and then up at him. "I didn't know. I'm sorry," Roberta said in a small voice.

"It's all right. If I had been you I would have run too," Bruce said with a grin as he touched her face.

Can I stay for the harvest?" Roberta asked.

"Of course you can. I would have let you if you had only asked me," Bruce said, pulling her into his arms. Roberta tensed slightly as he kissed her gently.

"Thank you," Roberta said, her voice slightly muffled as her face was buried in Bruce's shoulder.

"You're welcome. Would it bother you if your mother and I stayed for the harvest too?" Bruce asked.

Roberta shook her head against his chest. "No. I think my dad wanted me to give you a chance," Roberta said.

"Dr. Hamilton is a wise man, Sir," Alfred said, coming into the conversation.

"He is at that. I guess I can be grateful that he took such good care of you for me," Bruce said.

"My dad's cool. A little passionate about certain things, but he means well. Actually, I think he doesn't like Batman. He has something against vigilantes," Roberta said.

"So did your mother when I first became Batman. I guess we just don't tell him," Bruce said, hoping that Roberta would stop calling Dr. Hamilton her dad. As much as the man had done the right thing and called Bruce when Roberta had run away Roberta was still Bruce's daughter.

"So, Miss Roberta, what do you do during the harvest?" Alfred wanted to know.

"All the women of the village go out to the corn fields and we pick corn, beans, and squash. Those are the three major staples. We call them the Three Sisters. They grow together and can never be separated. So we pick the three together. We use baskets that are on our backs. They are known as burden-straps. The strap slips over our foreheads and then we carry everything on our backs. Until my cousin got too old for it I carried him on my back. I guess that's why I'm in such pain right now. That thing really bears into your back, shoulders, and legs," Roberta said, standing up. Bruce heard her legs crack again and Roberta's small whimper of pain.

"I would think you wouldn't want to do all this hard labor," Bruce said as Roberta made her way to the sink and got herself a glass of water.

"Well, I wouldn't think you'd want to go out as Batman and fight criminals either," Roberta said, taking a deep drink of water.

"Fair point. Most people wouldn't. You and your father have determination. I guess that's why he does it. He also wants to help people like your grandfather did," Rachel said.

"Can't fault you for that. I just think I'd rather do it a different way. I want to help people in the job I do. I've thought of either being a doctor or a lawyer. I don't know yet which," Roberta said as a knock sounded on the door.

Alfred went to the door. "Hi, I'm here to see Rachel," a breathy voice filled the doorway.

"Sounds like my cousin Julie. I wonder what she's doing out at this time of night," Bruce heard Roberta mutter as she went to the doorway.

"Hi, Rachel! I wasn't able to say hi this morning," a chubby energetic ten-year-old with coal-black hair came into the room.

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**Rachel/Roberta's POV: **

"What are you doing out so late, Jules? Does Uncle Peter know that you're over here?" I asked, feeling concerned.

"Nope. I just didn't get to say hi to you when you came out to the cornfield. Jane said you wouldn't come this time," Julie said, her lower lip out in a pout.

"That just shows you how little she knows. But you shouldn't be out so late, baby cousin," I said. Now I know I said I hated it when Jane called me that, but I felt perfectly justified in calling Julie and my younger cousins that.

"That doesn't stop you," Julie said.

"Good point. Dad made sure I took karate from the time I was five until now. I know how to defend myself. You don't," I said. I figured to protect Mr. Wayne's identity it would be a good idea that I never mention the fact that I'm also Batman's daughter too. A lot of people would figure that the daughter of Batman would know how to defend herself if a battle ensued.

Mr. Wayne touched my shoulder gently. "Who's your little friend?" He asked with a smile.

"Oh, sorry. This is my cousin, Julie. Julie, this is Bruce Wayne," I introduced.

"Nice to meet you. Your cousin's told me a lot about you," Mr. Wayne said, stooping to Julie's level.

"You're Rachel's real daddy. Uncle Patrick said she had one," Julie said with amazing clarity for a ten-year-old.

"That's right," Mr. Wayne said with a smile.

"Well, I'd better get you home before Uncle Peter starts to worry," I said, taking Julie by the hand.

"Are you gonna be here tomorrow, Rachel?" Julie asked.

"You can bet on it. I'll be up with Kah-kah the crow and ready to fight him so you can eat this winter," I said as we walked out the door. Mr. Wayne, Mrs. Wayne, and Alfred followed me.

"Who's Kah-kah the crow?" Mr. Wayne asked softly.

"He's sort of an enemy of the Seneca. He steals the corn and we have to always keep him away. We usually scare him with shouting and a blanket, but no stones or we'll hurt him. Rumor has it that he brought us the first sprig of corn in his beak. Therefore he's our friend, however a troublemaker," I said, knocking on my uncle heavy wooden door. I hoped Julie wouldn't get into trouble for coming over at night. Of course I never knew in my family.


	10. A Forced Promise

Chapter 10- A Forced Promise

After dropping Julie off at my uncle's house we went back to Grandmother's. The air was cold and smelled like snow, but I knew it was too early for it to happen. The cold air felt good and I took a deep breath of the woodsy cold air.

"Roberta, is it always this cold at night?" Mrs. Wayne asked.

"Only this time of night it is. Even in the summer it feels cool at night, "I said as I opened the heavy oak door to my grandfather's house.

"We are not finished talking, Roberta," Mr. Wayne said in a serious no-nonsense voice. I still couldn't figure out what to think about this man who was my father and at the same time wasn't my father.

"I know. I just didn't want my baby cousin to hear what we were talking about. She might figure out that you're Batman. I have decided I owe you my silence on that part," I said, sitting down on backless benches my grandfather had built.

"And thank you for that, Robbie, but that's not what I wanted to discuss with you. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was to run away? I have cleaned up a lot of Gotham City, but there are still criminals that would harm you. The criminals would not think twice about harming you," Mr. Wayne said, touching my hair with his fingers and stroking gently.

"I didn't think about that. I was just upset and then finding out your secret I thought I could just slip away as easily as I arrived," I said in a small voice.

Mr. Wayne then slipped his arms around my shoulders and pulled my face into his chest. "Roberta, that won't happen. If you try to run away again I will stop you. I want to be able to not worry about you, but I want your promise that you won't try to run again," Mr. Wayne said firmly.

I couldn't believe he was forcing this promise out of me, but I figured I had no choice. I also figured that my dad would force the same kind of promise too so any way I sliced it I was being forced to live with my real mother and father.

"All right. I promise I won't run away again," I said grudgingly.

"Good girl. I'm not heartless as you seem to think I am. I'm just concerned about you. I don't want to have to lock your windows and doors at night just to keep you safe," Mr. Wayne said, kissing my head gently.

"I never said you were heartless, Mr. Wayne. Bloodthirsty, maybe, but never heartless," I said without thinking.

"No. I'm not that either," Mr. Wayne said.

"What about your funny routine of 'Good Cop, Bad Cop?'" I asked.

"That? I only did that one time. I had the approval of the police to do that and I was saving your mother so it was okay," Mr. Wayne said, his fingers gently probing my head making me sleepy.

"I can't believe that the police actually let you do that. My own father would never dream of doing what you do," I muttered under my breath.

"I'm not Dr. Hamilton and he's not your father," Mr. Wayne said, apparently having the sensitive ears of a bat.

"He's a father to me. He took care of me when you couldn't and I'm going to bed," I said, deciding I'd had enough of this conversation. I was still tired and achy and 6:00 in the morning was going to come pretty fast. I couldn't stay up all night talking to all four sets of parents, real or imagined.

I went to the stairs that led up to the second floor. My grandparents slept in a small room off the kitchen/dining room and when they had visitors we always slept up in the loft which my grandfather had partitioned into five separate bedrooms. But first things first. I wanted and needed a bath.

Working in the cornfields all day left me with quite a pungent aroma and I knew I could never sleep if I smelled like corn, grass, and sweat. I made my way to the bathroom and turned the hot water on, feeling it run over my fingers before I put some lavender bath crystals in the tub to make it like it was a mineral bath.

I slithered down into the tub the water coming up to my neck and it feeling like silk. Lavender always soothed tired achy muscles and tonight was no exception. I soaked for a good thirty minutes before I got out and slipped into my plaid flannel nightshirt and pants.

I stumbled to my room and slipped into my bed. Now I know that braided leather is not very comfortable, but when you are tired it feels like the biggest feather mattress and I felt myself fall asleep almost immediately.

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**Reader's POV:**

Bruce looked up as Dr. Hamilton, his wife, and parents came into the house. Hamilton looked around. "Where's Rachel?" He asked. It took a minute for Bruce to remember that he was referring to Roberta. It was going to be difficult when his daughter had gone by the same name as her mother.

"Bed. She killed the conversation long before I was done," Bruce said wearily.

"She does that a lot. She doesn't really like to talk that much and would prefer if people don't try to make her," Hamilton said as they all sat at the scarred oak table.

"She told me that you would say that," Bruce said dryly.

"I would suggest you listen to her, Wayne. You may have given her life, but I was the one who has raised her for a good majority of it. You remember the three-year-old. I know the fourteen-year-old she is now. I'd even go as far as to say that I know my daughter better than you can possibly imagine," Hamilton said, his eyes hard.

"You didn't see Master Wayne when he was fourteen. Miss Roberta is, in many ways, like him, Dr. Hamilton. I should know. I raised him after his parents were murdered," Alfred jumped into the conversation.

The conversation would have continued, but Bruce noticed his daughter as she stood on the landing that led upstairs. She looked bleary-eyed and her hair was unbraided and looked like a cloak. She also wore red flannel pajamas that looked like they had been bought at a thrift store.

"Daddy, do you have any Tylenol? Anything for achy legs?" Roberta asked, looking at Dr. Hamilton.

"Yeah in my bag," Dr. Hamilton said, going to a small doctor's bag. He set it on the table and removed the stethoscope, a syringe, and a small hammer.

"Good thing we don't use the False-Face committees any more," Roberta said as Hamilton gave her two pills and a glass of water.

"Those haven't been used here since the 1700s and this part of the tribe converted under the Christian missionaries anyway," Hamilton said as Roberta swallowed the pills and drank the glass of water in one gulp.

"I know. I was just saying I was glad we don't use them since medicine men and all that is too much," Roberta said with a small smile.

"Not that other parts of the tribes don't use medicine men. I've tangled with them because I'm half-Indian and I know the White man's medicine," Hamilton said.

Bruce watched as his daughter sat down next to Dr. Hamilton's wife, rubbing her temples with her hand. "Are you all right?" Mrs. Hamilton asked.

"Achy and sore, Mom. I'll live though. I have to if I'm going to be any good out there in the cornfield. I wish you could come with us," Roberta said hopefully.

"I really can't, Rachel. Remember I'm helping your grandmother and the elderly women of the tribe make green cornbread tomorrow," Mrs. Hamilton said, taking Roberta's hand in hers and rubbing it gently.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. Too bad we only eat that at harvest," Roberta said with a shamed look on her face.

"Well, if we ate it at other times then it wouldn't be special, would it?" Dr. Hamilton said.

"Dad, you are never wrong," Roberta said dryly.

"It's a gift. All fathers have it," Dr. Hamilton said with a huge grin.

Dr. Hamilton's father also grinned at that one. "You know, I remember you getting mad at me when I used to say that, Patrick," Bruce had to turn his head at that one. The banter in this family was amusing to say the least, but he wouldn't let his daughter see how funny he thought it was. He was planning to take her home as soon as this harvest of hers was done. He didn't know if he'd allow Roberta to see these people again or not.

"Really, Grandpa?" Roberta asked, playing with a strand of her dark hair.

"Yep. When your father was your age he treated responsibility like it was the plague. I wore out quite a few belts on his and Peter's backsides," Mr. Hamilton said. Bruce felt himself bristle. People seemed to like referring to Dr. Hamilton as Roberta's father. It took a lot of willpower not to lash out at that.

"Really? Dad, you are such a fraud! After all the times you made me learn math and all that during my summer breaks I can't believe it!" Roberta said, rolling her eyes.

"There's no law that says you can't learn during summer. So forget that one," Dr. Hamilton said wryly.

"You're still a fraud, Daddy. After the headaches you gave Grandpa, maybe you shouldn't teach me any more math during the summer," Roberta said, giggling.

"Nice try, Shorty. I'm looking into the hospitals around Gotham. I'm going to call on you every night to make sure you are keeping up with that fancy-school education that Wayne is giving you," Dr. Hamilton said.

What do you mean you are looking into the hospitals around Gotham?" Roberta asked, voicing Bruce's concerns.

"We-your mother and I- have been talking. We kind of figured you'd like to have us around and since you are relocating to Gotham we have decided to join you," Dr. Hamilton said. Roberta squealed and wrapped her arms tightly around Dr. Hamilton's waist.

"Are you really?" Roberta asked, her green eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"If I can find a hospital. There's like a million hospitals in Gotham. I'm leaning towards the Narrows district. That place doesn't have enough doctors and the poorest live there. We also need to find an apartment that's close to where you live," Dr. Hamilton said, scrubbing his face with his hands.

"Dad, are you sure? It's the city and you hate the city even more than I do," Roberta said hesitantly.

"I'm sure. I hate the idea of you fending for yourself in Gotham without me and your mother with you," Dr. Hamilton said, taking Roberta in his arms and hugging her tightly.

"We got the Batman to look out for me," Roberta said, her green eyes teasing Bruce as she looked at him.

"I don't know. You know how I feel about vigilantes, Rachel," Dr. Hamilton said, his face hard.

"I know, I know. You don't like the idea that someone would take the law into their own hands. But, Dad, what if the system in Gotham City was broken before Batman came?" Roberta asked. Bruce felt a measure of pride in his chest. Roberta was sticking up for him!

"No excuse. No one has the right to be a vigilante no matter how corrupt the law is," Dr. Hamilton said, rubbing Roberta's back gently.

"I guess. Dad, I'm really tired now. Can I go to bed now?" Roberta said, looking up at Dr. Hamilton.

"I guess so. Six O' clock is going to come awful quick," Dr. Hamilton said, kissing Roberta gently on her right eyebrow.

"Night, everyone," Roberta said as she slowly made her way upstairs

"I would prefer if you didn't kiss my daughter," Bruce said as soon as she was out of earshot.

"You might want to tell her that also, Wayne. Tomorrow when she wakes up I'll be the first person that she'll kiss. That little girl is going to be crushed if I tell her that I can't allow her to kiss me or Helen any more. You better be the one to tell her. All I know is that telling her that she can't is not going to make her love you," Dr. Hamilton said wearily as he sat down/

Bruce wondered if Hamilton was right. It hurt to see his daughter hug and kiss another man and woman and refer to them as her mother and father. But it would hurt a whole lot more if he saw resentment in his daughter's eyes when she talked to him and he forced her to make a choice between the Hamiltons' and him and Rachel.


	11. A Decision Made

Chapter 11- A Decision Made

Well, my father was right on one score. Six o'clock came pretty fast during the three or four corn harvests. Also I had a few aches and pains the next day, but they were nothing compared to last night's when I had to beg Dad for some Tylenol.

I dressed in a black-and-white long-sleeved turtleneck and a pair of baggy blue jeans that I had just gotten from my oldest cousin, Jasmine. Jasmine was the only older girl cousin I got along with really well. She had just gotten married to a man in the tribe and she wasn't as annoying as Jane could be.

I went downstairs. Both sets of parents, my grandparents, and Alfred were already up. In an Indian tribe the women always wake up early. We're the ones who have to prepare breakfast for the men and children. Things like this haven't changed since the 1700s. It was just a little surprising to see my father, grandfather, Mr. Wayne, and Alfred up at this hour.

"Who died?" I asked stupidly. The last time my father or grandfather was up at six in the morning was when great-uncle Tall Pine died 4 years ago.

'Huh?" Dad asked with a confused look in his dark brown eyes.

"The last time you and Grandpa ever woke up this early was when a relative died 4 years ago," I said, sitting down in the only available seat at the table. Unfortunately it was right next to Mr. Wayne.

"I suppose we can't see you and your cousins off, can't we?" Grandpa said with his famous 'James Garner' grin. Grandpa reminds me so much of the actor James Garner in "The Notebook" that I often tease him and say that he has a 'James Garner' grin.

"You and every other man of the tribe are usually asleep at this hour. And no offense meant, Mr. Wayne, Alfred, but you're white and rich. Don't the idle rich and white men sleep in?" I asked.

Mr. Wayne shot me a look that was amused and annoyed. "Sometimes I sleep in. Can't always. I have to go to work and your mother usually has a case in court," Mr. Wayne said.

"Here's your breakfast, Rachel," Mom said, putting a bowl of cornpone soup in front of me. Now this is normally a bland dish, but Grandma left out salt for us to flavor as we liked it. Grandpa was really the only one who ate it without salt and for medical reasons. Dad had examined him five months ago and told him that he needed to watch his salt intake or, at his age, it'd kill him.

I sprinkled the salt in a huge amount. "Easy there, Rach. You know that too much salt is bad for you," Dad said warningly, covering my hand with his.

"I'm not as old as Grandpa, Dad. A little salt won't kill me," I said sarcastically.

"Would you like me to pull out all the research that says putting salt on your food is like putting poison on it?" Dad asked as Grandmother and Mom put out the soup to everyone else.

Mr. Wayne took a bite. Judging from the look on his face he didn't like it. "What is this, Roberta?" Mr. Wayne asked. Every time the man used the name "Roberta" it was like a time bomb going off. I think it was his way of saying that as much as I called Patrick Hamilton "Dad," he really wasn't.

"Cornpone soup. Or cornpone soaked in water. It's a Seneca recipe my grandmother likes to make. Put a little salt and pepper in it and it should be fine," I said, handing the shakers to Mr. Wayne.

"It took me awhile to get used to it, Wayne. It was about a year before I even liked it," Grandpa said, taking a huge bite of the corn cake in his bowl.

"How long did it take you, Miss Wayne?" Alfred asked. It took me a minute to remember that Alfred was talking to me.

"I don't know, Alfred. My memories are fragmented when it comes to this. I can barely even remember being kidnapped. I didn't even struggle. What kid doesn't struggle when she's being kidnapped?" I asked. It was a question that had plagued me since I discovered the milk carton. It was an awful lot like Janie's in the book.

"A three-year-old," Mom said flatly.

"But still, I should have known he was bad. Kids know if a person's bad," I said, feeling three again for one moment.

Mr. Wayne wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into his arms. "We never blamed you, Roberta. It wasn't your fault," Mr. Wayne whispered, kissing the top of my head.

"No. I guess you don't have to, Mr. Wayne. I'm doing a good job of blaming myself," I said, burying my face in Mr. Wayne's shoulder.

"You don't have to, Rachel. A three-year-old is innocent. You haven't done anything for which you should be ashamed," Dad said his voice as comforting as Mr. Wayne's arms around my shoulders.

"I should have done something. I should have screamed," I said.

"You probably would have, but knowing the man who took you screaming wouldn't have helped," Mr. Wayne said, stroking my hair gently.

My grandmother then spoke in the Seneca tongue. "Rachel, it's time to go to the fields. Your aunt and cousins are walking down the road," Grandmother said, her voice not as harsh as it would have been on any other day. I guess my tears and distress unnerved her.

"Yes, Grandmother," I said in Seneca, raising my face from Mr. Wayne's shoulder. I ate as fast as I could without choking and ran towards the burden-strap I hung up last night. Dad helped me slip it over me forehead and my arms.

"There! Now I'm going to be examining patients all day and your mom is going to be here with your grandmother if you need us," Dad said, his hands like a weight on my shoulders.

"Okay. I should be back for lunch," I said, walking out into the chill that was early morning.

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**Bruce's POV:**

"I had no idea that it bothered her so much, Wayne," Hamilton said as they watched Roberta walk down the road and join the little girl who visited last night and an older girl.

"Roberta is just like me. If she can't figure it out now, she will later," Bruce said wearily. He had tossed and turned all night, debating what he should do about Roberta and these people. He had been all prepared to tell her that she couldn't refer to these people as her parents or hug or kiss them again. But her distress over what had happened 12 years ago totally wiped out that lecture. Especially after she had let Bruce be her father and comfort her like she was three instead of fourteen.

"I am also the same way. Being a lawyer I have to search for facts," Rachel said.

"She is persistent at that. I remember when she first tried to learn the language of the Seneca. It irritated her to no end when she accidentally said 'window' when she meant 'wood' or 'dog' instead of 'cat,' " Michael Hamilton said with a smile.

"Funny, I remember Mother saying the same thing when I was ten about you," Hamilton said with an even wider grin.

"I don't deny it, but Rachel and myself are living proof that a white person can learn the language. Even though Seneca wasn't our first language we learned it and we speak it here so well that people forget that we are white," Michael said.

"How long did it take for Roberta to learn it?" Bruce wanted to know.

"A long time. I had my mother talk to her in the Seneca language. She would repeat words and phrases over and over until she learned. It wasn't until almost a year after her adoption that we started to realize that she knew the language. She spoke about corn and beans to Running Elk Mason outside and it wasn't English she was talking in," Hamilton said.

"Who?" Alfred asked.

"Running Elk. His white name is Jonathan and we all call him Jack. He was adopted at the same time as Rachel. He's about two or three years older than Rachel and his father is one of the chiefs. He's always protected Rachel as if she was his kid sister," Hamilton said.

"I don't know how long Jack will think of her as a cute little girl," Ellen muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rachel asked.

"Rachel has gotten very beautiful. And Jack has gotten very handsome. The girls in the tribe speak very well of him. She hasn't discovered boys actually exist yet," Hamilton said wearily.

Bruce had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. His daughter thinking boys were cute was just laughable! To him she was still his baby girl! He wasn't ready for her to be interested in boys! He had just gotten her back! Roberta then came in, her face flushed and her dark hair messy.

"You look as if you've been running," Hamilton said with a smile.

"Yep. My burden-strap broke. Aunt Lisa said I needed to get another one," Roberta said quickly, going over to the wall pegs and grabbing another one.

"How did it break?" Ellen asked.

"I don't know. I just felt it give way when I started putting corn in it. I'll be back for lunch," Roberta said, opening the door and running outside.

Bruce watched as she ran back to the cornfields. She looked happier here. Bruce wondered if he would be able to talk with her about the Hamiltons.' It seemed as if she rarely had time outside of helping the women pick the harvest.

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Bruce and Alfred watched as Hamilton, his father, and his brother showed them around the reservation. "The reservation has actually grown some in years. A lot of intermarriage between other branches of the Iroquois and some of the white people has helped it expand. We also adopt a lot too. At least we don't do what we used to do to adopt people into our tribe," Peter Hamilton said as they stopped in front of a smokehouse.

"What did you use to do, Sir?" Alfred asked.

"Used to be that when an Indian died of something that was caused by white men we'd raid a farm and kidnap people. We'd force them to be Indians. But when the French and Indian War came we were told that if we allied ourselves with the British that had to end and we had to return any captive we had taken back to his or her family. We did have a few captives who decided to stay no matter what, but a lot did go back to their families. Now we adopt in the legal ways," Patrick Hamilton explained calmly.

"Is it harder for Indians to adopt?" Bruce wanted to know.

"A little. A lot of the white men try to punish me and Peter because we are half-white and look like Indians. They say things like our father betrayed his kind when he married an Indian woman. It happened again when me and Peter married white women. They just think that a white woman or man can't find love with an Indian. I guess that's why I thought Henri Ducard was a good man. He didn't look at me as an Indian and he said that he knew of a baby that's mother and father had died. I thought he was a legitimate lawyer that wanted to help a childless couple," Patrick said

"I know that now. You wouldn't have called me when Roberta ran away if you had intentionally kidnapped my daughter," Bruce said. What Bruce said was true. If Patrick had known he never would have taken Roberta either.

"Thank you. Wayne, me and Ellen still want to be part of Rachel's life. We would like to if you'd allow it," Patrick said.

"I've been thinking about it all night. I was all ready to tell all of you to stay away from my daughter and for Roberta to chop all ties with you, but you were right. She needs her parents; all four of us. I'm willing to share her if you are," Bruce said, watching as all the women came back into the village with their baskets of corn on their backs.

The Indian language they all spoke flowed freely as each one dumped her load in a bin; the older women of the tribe, followed by the teenagers and girls. Bruce watched as Roberta dumped her load with a laugh and pushed a strand of hair out of her green eyes. She looked happy. Her face absolutely lit up like a Christmas tree when she was happy. Bruce knew that Roberta would be even happier when she found out that he would let the Hamiltons' be a part of her life. He just wondered how he was going to tell her.


	12. Mr Wayne's Decision and the result

Chapter 12- Mr. Wayne's Decision and its Result

I told you that working in the cornfield was hard on the back and legs with the burden-straps we use. It feels worse in some regards to me on the second day. I usually stop thinking of how much my back and legs hurt by the fourth day. I am totally used to this kind of work by then.

Lunch was quick in coming, though. For a lot of the women it felt as if lunch would never come, but I'm different. I get so caught up in work hours slip past me and before I know what's happening, it's time to quit.

All of us walked back to the houses that housed the whole reservation. I saw Dad, Uncle Peter, Grandpa, and Mr. Wayne all talking. They all stopped as soon as they saw me. I pulled off the burden-strap and dumped the full basket of corn into the storage bin. I made my way slowly to Dad and hugged him tight.

"So, you ready for lunch?" Dad asked, jerking one of my dark braids.

"Am I ever not?" I evaded the question with one of my own.

"You do realize it's rude to answer a question with a question?" Dad asked with a wry grin on his face.

"Yeah, I realize that, Dad," I said, looking over at Mr. Wayne. He didn't look quite as upset as he has since I came back into his life. He actually looked defeated and resigned that I would be hugging another man, calling him "Dad" and teasing him. I never would have dreamed that Batman would feel defeated on something like this.

"Then why do you do it?" Grandpa asked, grinning.

"If I didn't Daddy would have no reason to get upset with me," I said, starting to laugh. Grandpa and Uncle Peter started to laugh as well and we all entered my grandparents' house.

"Rachel, go wash your hands," Mom said as Mrs. Wayne, Grandma, Mom, and Alfred got everything on the table.

"Yes, Mother," I said, pretending to sound like the obedient daughter as I rolled my eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes and sass your mother," Dad said automatically.

"Like you never did that," I muttered under my breath.

"Hey, I heard that!" Dad said.

"Good," I said in a light tone.

"Keep it up, Little Girl. I never switched you, but you're making it awful tempting," Dad said as I turned on the tap and washed my hands. I then eased up on the teasing. My dad takes a lot of teasing from all of us, but I learned early how far his limits go on teasing. But that didn't stop me from quoting Seneca law to him.

"Dad, you kind of can't. It's forbidden to use that kind of corporeal punishment on children here. I either change my ways or you dunk me in a stream," I said. My father made this face. All of us know Seneca law pretty well and Dad and Uncle Peter hate it when me and my cousins nail them to the wall with it.

"She got you there, Sweetheart," Mom said as we all sat down.

"You siding with her is not helping, Ellie," Dad said grumpily.

Mr. Wayne looked slightly amused as he put a piece of turkey on a plate and handed it to Mrs. Wayne. "So, you've never been spanked, Robbie?" Mr. Wayne asked me after Grandpa prayed.

"Not really. The Seneca think it's wrong to use a switch or a belt. They think freezing, cold water works better than the spanking," I said, taking a bite of potatoes.

"I take it you have been subjected to that kind of punishment, Miss Roberta?" Alfred asked in a prim and proper voice.

"Once or twice. The first time was when I was, maybe, five or six. I can't even remember. I tricked Jack into thinking a mud pie was chocolate. He ate it and Dad had to give him medicine. I had never seen Dad so angry," I said, laughing slightly.

"It's not really that funny, Rachel. Jack was really sick," Mom said.

"It was his fault that he was too stupid to see that it was mud and not chocolate. At least I know the difference," I retorted good-naturedly.

"I think his parents would have disagreed with that bit of logic. Trent even said that we'd have to figure out some way to control you or he'd spank you himself," Dad said.

"Well, after that incident I never did it again. The only other times you had to punish me was when I cheated on that test in school and when Sarah pierced my ears with a piercing gun that her aunt uses at Claire's in the mall," I said. Mr. Wayne's face looked amused and concerned at some of the mishaps he was hearing that I had done.

"Well, we didn't expect you to grow without a few mistakes along the way, but we weren't about to let you go unpunished for them either. And when you pierced your ears I only grounded you. I figured the raging ear infection you had was punishment enough," Dad said with a smirk.

"It was. I thought my ears would fall off they hurt so badly," I said, rubbing my ears.

"I like your earrings, though," Mrs. Wayne said, with a smile.

"Thank you. They belonged to my grandmother. Jane was not too happy that they came to me, but she can't argue about it. My father is the oldest and these earrings always go to the oldest male or female. Mom can't wear them and neither can Dad, so they handed them down to me as the daughter of the oldest son," I said, fingering the arrowhead earrings I wore.

"Jane didn't like it though. She said your grandmother had no right since we didn't have any children of our own and you're not even Seneca by blood," Dad said, taking another helping of food.

"I missed the part where that's my problem. Jane is messed up and Grandmother knew the traditions in the family. So you were the one to get them and then you passed them to me," I said, filling my bowl with cornmeal and beans.

"So when did you get your ears pierced, Roberta?" Mrs. Wayne asked.

"I think I was 11 or 12. Dad told me I wasn't mature enough to get my ears pierced. He said I had to wait until I was 15 before I got my ears pierced. I wasn't willing to wait and I talked my best friend into doing it at her house. If the infection and piercing gun didn't hurt so bad Dad probably would killed me," I said with a grin.

"Like I said, you punished yourself enough with the ear infection. In fact, you were so pitiful I felt bad for you as I treated your ears," Dad said, taking a drink of coffee.

"Yeah. I remember when I was eight and broke my arm. You set the bone yourself. I thought doctors weren't allowed to do that to their own families. Something like being too emotionally involved?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"I think that's surgery, Roberta. Your grandfather was a doctor and he set my arm when I broke it once," Mr. Wayne pointed out.

"How did you break it?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"I fell down a well when I was eight. Me and your mother were teasing each other and your grandfather got me out. He set the bone himself and took me in for x-rays later," Mr. Wayne said, touching my callused hand with his.

"Is that why you didn't want me outside without your permission?" I asked, remembering his overreacting to my being outside while the sun was out.

"No. I meant what I said. Just because Wayne Manor is in the country doesn't mean it's safer out there either and you could also get lost on the property," Mr. Wayne said, sounding kinder than he did two days before about the whole thing.

"I do have a good sense of direction though. Dad says I should have been adopted into the Cherokees. They have it too," I said with a wry grin.

"I didn't know that. I also have something else to discuss with you. Is there any place we can talk in private?" Mr. Wayne asked.

"I know of a place. Dad, may we be excused?" I asked, standing up. It would be an hour until all the girls and women would go back to the cornfields. Might as well hear Mr. Wayne out.

"Go ahead. All of us now anyway what he's discussing with you," Dad said with a smile.

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**Reader's POV:**

Bruce and Roberta walked to the waterfalls that were one the reservation property. "This is my favorite place. Me and Dad used to come here to watch the sunset when I was small and I'd come here later to read," Roberta said, sitting down on a fallen log.

Bruce sat next to her. He didn't know how to start this conversation. He hated the idea of sharing his daughter with another man, but he didn't see as if he had no choice in the matter. Roberta would never accept Bruce as her father if he continued to oppose the doctor and his wife.

"What I have to discuss with you is very important, Robbie," Bruce hesitated slightly.

"What is it, Mr. Wayne? Do you have this much of a problem talking to people when you're Batman?" Roberta asked.

"Shhh! Keep your voice down! I don't want everyone to know my secret," Bruce hissed, covering her lips with his fingers.

"Mr. Wayne, there's no one here. Very few people other than myself come here during the corn harvest," Roberta said, pulling his hand from her mouth.

"Still, better safe than sorry," Bruce said,

"You still didn't answer my question," Roberta said with a grin.

"I've been talking with Dr, Hamilton," Bruce said.

"And?" Roberta asked.

"Roberta, your mother and I have always loved you, but I think if you ever want to love us again as you once did Dr. Hamilton and his wife need to be as much a part of your life as your mother and I are," Bruce said, watching her face as he spoke.

Roberta's light-green eyes widened and lit up like a Christmas tree. "Do you mean that, Mr. Wayne?" Roberta asked in a barely audible whisper.

"Yes. I do. It wasn't their fault you were stolen. I thought if I ever got you back that things would be as they were. I should have realized that fourteen-year-olds are different from three-year-olds. So do you forgive your old dad for being stupid?" Bruce asked, gripping one of her dark braids and twirling it between his fingers.

"You aren't stupid, Mr. Wayne. I probably would have done the same thing you did. But thank you. I don't think I'm ready to give up my mom and dad," Roberta said ruefully.

"I understand. I also have a favor to ask you," Bruce said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. This hug was different. Instead of her just laying limply in his arms like she had been doing since she came back she had wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest.

"What?" Roberta asked.

"You don't have to call me by my last name, Robbie," Bruce said.

"I don't know what to call you. I can't call you "Dad" because I already have someone that I call that and Mom said it's rude to call grownups by their first name," Roberta said, raising her head from his chest and looking into his eyes.

Bruce felt a brief flash of pain. He WAS this girl's father and again he wasn't. He hated the idea that his own daughter called him by his last name, but he couldn't force her to call him "Daddy" as she did before her kidnapping.

"I won't make you call me "Dad." If you ever decide that's what you want to call me then I'll accept that. If you don't I'll accept that too. But we have to think of something better than my own daughter calling me by my last name. What happens if we have fundraisers and dinners to go to? It would look odd that Bruce Wayne's daughter calls him by his last name," Bruce pointed out.

"You got any ideas?" Roberta asked.

"How about I give you permission to call me and your mother by our first names? I don't like it, but you don't really know either of us and you don't really know what to call us," Bruce said.

"I can actually do that?" Roberta asked nervously.

"Yes. You have my permission," Bruce said, gently brushing her face with his fingers.

"All right. If that's what you want, Mr… I mane, Bruce," Roberta said, correcting herself before she called him by his last name again.

"You see? That wasn't too bad, was it?" Bruce asked as they stood.

"I guess not. Are you still calling me Roberta?" Roberta asked, staying in step with Bruce as they walked back to the reservation.

"What do you think? It'll be easier for your mother and myself to call you by the name we gave you," Bruce said.

"Can't argue with that. I guess having my name be Rachel and your wife's name be Rachel would be too confusing," Roberta said, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Yes it would. I don't blame them for calling you Rachel, but your mother and I will always think of you as Roberta," Bruce said, feeling his heart skip with joy over all the developments that had happened. Now, maybe, they can get their family right back on track. Bruce hadn't told Rachel or Alfred that he was hunting down Henri Ducard. He had been looking since Hamilton had said that it was Ducard who had given him Roberta. He had to make sure that Ducard was put in prison for good this time.


	13. Tribal Duties

Chapter 13- Tribal Duties

Now as all of you can probably figure out I was pleased as punch that Mr. Wayne, I mean Bruce wasn't forcing the issue any more on calling Patrick Hamilton "Dad." If Bruce could stay like this I could probably accept that he was my real father some day in the near future. I could probably even accept that he was the Batman some day.

It was a little hard to think of him as Batman, though. Even though I had seen him in the suit, when he kissed Rachel or kissed, hugged, and told me that he loved me it was hard to imagine that he was Batman. True, Bruce sulked and was gloomy, but Batman was way more serious than the man next to me and holding me in his arms.

For the moment though I was just glad we had an understanding and was perfectly content to let him hold me and play with my hair. In some ways I think he had laid claim to my hair which was so much like his. He just couldn't keep his fingers out of it.

"You know, I never thought you'd look like this. Your mother and I had an age-progression photo done of you when you were ten. We just took one of the last photos we had taken of you and had it done. It was supposed to be a picture of what you'd look like now, but it doesn't look like you now," Bruce said, methodically rubbing my head, face, and forehead with his fingers.

"Really? I'd like to see it, Bruce," I said, standing up. Bruce stood with me.

"I have it with me. Your mother and I each have a copy. I thought at the time that if this was the only time I'd see what you looked like now, I'd better keep it," Bruce said, pulling out an old leather wallet that looked older than my grandfather. He pulled out a picture and handed it over to me.

The picture was folded and showed signs of being looked at often. I unfolded it and stared at the photo. The girl in the picture did have some of my features, but had higher cheekbones and a lighter color of hair than mine. Bruce was right. The age-progression photo didn't really look like me by a long shot.

"This isn't me," I said as I folded the photo and handed it back to Bruce.

"I know that. Age-progression photos aren't exact science. It's more of a guess of what you'd look like. Now a DNA test will prove you're my daughter. That's why we have you scheduled for one when we get back to Gotham," Bruce explained.

A feeling of horror filled me at those words. "A DNA test?! No one told me I'd have to get a DNA test!" I squeaked. The shocked look that filled Bruce's eyes was a little alarming. No one had apparently yelled at him before in living memory unless when he was Batman.

"Calm down, Robbie. DNA tests are a standard procedure if people like your mother and I ever get a kidnapped child back," Bruce said, putting his hands on my thin shoulders.

"They aren't standard with me. Isn't my word good enough for you that I'm your daughter? Why do I have to be poked like a pincushion? I'm afraid of needles!" I protested, my shock giving way to the one thing in life I absolutely pass out over if I'm in the room with it.

"Roberta, your mother said that even though we've taken your word a DNA test still has to be done. It's not enough that all of us know that you are my daughter. Now I know you are afraid, but I'm asking you to trust me. I would never ask you to do something if it was going to harm you. You trusted me a long time ago when I was "Daddy." Could you trust me like you once did?" Bruce asked, looking deep into my eyes.

"I guess so. Can my dad be there with me?" I asked, the tears starting to fall. Bruce wiped my face with his fingers.

"Of course Dr. Hamilton can be there if you want him. Both of us and his wife will be there if you want us," Bruce said, as I buried my face in his chest. The rich smell of his cologne was pleasant.

"Yeah. I want my Dad there, Bruce," I said, my voice shaking slightly. It was hard not to panic at the though of a needle going into my arm just so people could determine my DNA, but if Bruce and Rachel would be there with my mom and dad who was I to worry about a little blood.

"How long have you been afraid of needles, Robbie?" Bruce asked, his breath tickling my ear.

"I think I was five and was getting ready to start school. My dad had to hold me down on the account that I was crying, struggling, and screaming like they were killing me. They also had to hold me down when I swam so much one summer and got Swimmer's ear to show for it. The doctor gave me a shot then and I was ten," I said, starting to feel drowsy as Bruce's hands rubbed my face, hair, and back slowly.

"We're all afraid of something. When I was your age I was afraid of bats," Bruce said as they started to walk back to the village. I looked at him, feeling slightly mystified.

"Bats? Then what made you decide on- you know?" I asked, trying not to say "Batman."

"Bats frightened me and I wanted the criminals to share my dread of them," Bruce said casually.

"You're not still afraid of them? Are you?" I asked.

"No. I got over that fear a long time ago. I was attacked by bats when I was a boy that caused the fear, but your grandfather helped me with some sound advice. He said that scary creatures only attack what they are afraid of themselves," Bruce said as we stepped to the edge of the village. Some of the women and girls were coming out of their houses, burden-straps on their backs as they made their way to the cornfields.

"Well, I guess I should go get my basket," I said, wishing that I could still talk to Bruce. This was the easiest conversation with him I had had since I found him.

"I need to talk to your mother. I need to tell her what me and you talked about and not to feel alarmed if you call her by her first name," Bruce said as I opened the heavy oak door of Grandmother's house.

All of my female cousins were there and they all turned as one to look at me Julie bounced up to me, an ecstatic smile on her face. "Uncle Patrick said you'd be back soon since our break was almost over. Daddy said he has some important news for you. Jane hates it," Julie whispered the last bit as she nearly squeezed the breath out of me.

I looked up at my uncle. He was stricter than my father by a lot. My father had gotten onto me as a child, but not nearly as much as my uncle did with all my cousins. "So, what's so important, Uncle Peter?" I asked, feeling Bruce's arm tighten around my slim shoulders.

"You do remember that in our tribe that we get to pick our successors, right?" Uncle Peter asked.

"Yes and that affects me how?" I asked skeptically, not realizing where Uncle Peter was going with this.

"Well, I picked mine," Uncle Peter said as casually as if he were pulling teeth.

"Oh? Then congratulations. Who'd you pick?" I asked.

"You," Uncle Peter said. That one simple word caused me to feel dizzy. If it wasn't for Bruce holding me up with his muscular arm I would have collapsed in front of everyone.

"Me? You picked me to take your place? I'm not even Seneca by blood," I managed to squeak out. I was Seneca by adoption into the tribe, but was adoption legal grounds for me to be a chief among the People of the Iroquois Nation?

"That doesn't matter. If you have been adopted into the tribe and have lived as one of us for many years. You have just as much right to be a tribal chief as any of us," Uncle Peter said firmly.

"So on a legal basis my being white has nothing to do with it?" I asked, grabbing a thick handful of the back of Bruce's shirt.

"None, whatsoever. To all of us you are as Indian as your grandmother. How did you feel the other night when you were served hamburgers?" Uncle Peter asked, reminding me of that first horrible night with Rachel and Bruce.

I felt my face heat as if someone had just changed the temperature in the house. "Sick. I had a feeling that if I ate it I might get sick. Dad says it's all in my head, but I don't think so," I said in a timorous voice.

"Exactly. You reacted as a member of the tribe, Daughter," Uncle Peter said. Even though he's my uncle he calls me "Daughter" as if I really were. Like Cherokee men Seneca men, or Seneca men from this area, call all girls that whether they are or not.

"I don't know if I can do this, Uncle Peter. I am still white and not everyone here has treated me as if I was part of the tribe. Long Eagle said that I'll never be part of the tribe to him because my eyes are green," I said, feeling a release as I said all of the things that meaner members of the tribe had said to me over the years.

It still doesn't matter. I am your uncle by adoption and when a family member picks who his or her successor as one of the tribal chiefs no one can debate that choice. Not even on the grounds that you have green eyes or that you came into the tribe by being stolen from your real home," Uncle Peter said, quieting whatever argument I had left.

Like my father arguing with my uncle is a pure waste of breath. I rolled my eyes and blew out my breath, lifting a strand of dark hair away from my face. "So, what do I do now?" I asked, accepting my uncle's choice and moving away from Bruce.

"First thing you do is read this," Uncle Peter said, handing me a thick leather-bound book. It looked as thick as _Gone with the Wind_ that I read last year over the summer.

"It looks like the book _Gone with_ _the Wind _I read last year," I said as much as the book weighed down my thin hands. It felt as if the huge volume could snap the bones of my wrists in half.

""Just not as interesting," Dad quipped, his dark eyes smiling at me.

"It is important though. And also if you decide you don't want to be a tribal chief at any time after today you can come to us and tell us you quit and then we'll pick someone else," Uncle Peter said.

"I'll give it a shot, but if I don't like it I'll let you know," I said. This was the best promise I could give him since my only reasons for not doing this was because I was nervous over what others in the tribe might think. In this tribe you had to think you couldn't do it. Everyone else saying you couldn't because you were technically white, wouldn't count as an excuse.

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Bruce watched as everyone went back to their business. Roberta went with her cousins, grandmother and Mrs. Hamilton back to the cornfield. Bruce sat down. Rachel and Alfred sat across from him.

"So, how did it go?" Rachel asked, taking Bruce's hand in hers and gently probing his fingers with hers.

"Better than I thought it would. She is going to live with us, but I think it'll be best for her if she's still part of these people's lives. Also she's not going to call us by our last names any more," Bruce said. Rachel smiled in relief.

"That is good, Sir. It would be extremely awkward if young Miss Wayne referred to you by your last name in public," Alfred joined into the conversation.

"What is she going to call us, Bruce?" Rachel asked, cocking her head quizzically.

"I have given her permission to call us by our first names. So if she uses your first name I don't want you to be alarmed," Bruce said. Rachel's eyes widened.

"Bruce, it's not polite for children to call parents by their first names," Rachel protested.

"I know it's not, but, Rachel, she doesn't know us any more. If we force her to call us 'Mom and Dad' she is going to resent us and will run away again. This time I don't know if even I could stop her if she did. I told her I would, but I would rather have her call me by my first name and be happy than to see her miserable while I forced her to do something she hated," Bruce said firmly.


	14. Seneca Laws and Falling

Chapter 14-

Now Seneca law is very boring! At least _Gone with the Wind_ was a bit more fascinating. The book Uncle Peter gave me to read looked about as interesting as going to the dentist to have my teeth pulled.

I walked into my grandparent's house, hanging up the burden-strap as I put the book on the table. All the others were probably somewhere else as I didn't see them. Bruce, Rachel, and Alfred were not even there and considering how big my Indian family is everyone else was probably already visiting relatives. We were like the Irish at Christmas time. When the corn harvests came everyone gathered together for it.

I sat down at the oak table and opened the book. The Iroquois Constitution was the first thing in the book to read. Now someone who knew I was raised by Indians let me see their junior year lit book that had the Iroquois Constitution. The book had chopped and condensed it, but here I was reading it in its entirety.

Before I knew it I fell asleep over the pages. I didn't even hear Bruce, Rachel and Alfred come in until Bruce's fingers touched my face.

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Bruce felt satisfied. He had gotten a hold of Roberta's school and Lucius Fox. Roberta would start school next week and Fox had managed to send him some papers he needed to sign for the company, plus a paper from Roberta's school asking him for a donation to the fine arts program.

Bruce felt a smile cross his face as he stepped into the small house that Hamilton's mother and father lived in. Rachel stopped next to him. "Bruce, she looks so beautiful," Rachel said, tears in her brown eyes.

"Yes she is. I guess she decided to start the book that Hamilton's brother gave her," Bruce said, picking up the book and closing it. His daughter was right. It was heavy and the title was in a foreign language Bruce couldn't speak. If he was to bet anything it was the language that he had heard Roberta use when talking to the Indians here.

"This is not even written in English," Rachel commented, looking at the title.

"I noticed. Well, maybe Robbie could tell us what it means later," Bruce said, sitting down next to his daughter and brushing her face and hair gently with his fingertips. Roberta pushed his hand away as she sat up.

"Ugh," Roberta groaned, rubbing her eyes with her fingers.

"You okay, Robbie?" Rachel asked concerned.

"I think so. I'm tired and I was reading that book," Roberta said, standing up and walking to the sink. She poured herself a glass of water.

"Well, 'was' is your key phrase," Bruce said wryly.

"Huh?" Roberta asked.

"You were asleep, Miss Roberta," Alfred said with a smile.

"I was?" Roberta asked.

"You were. I hated to wake you. You looked so cute sleeping there. But you won't sleep tonight if you fall asleep now," Bruce said, grinning at her.

"Bruce, shut up!" Roberta snapped as she opened the ancient refrigerator and pulled out a pan.

"What's that?" Bruce asked, choosing to ignore her rudeness. Roberta opened it.

"Chicken corn chowder from two days ago. My grandmother doesn't believe in tossing out leftovers until they get too old to eat or it's all gone," Roberta said, putting it on the stove and turning on the burner. She added half a glass of water to the pot.

"Miss, do you want me to cook this?" Alfred asked as she fished a wooden spoon out of a drawer.

"I am the worst cook ever, but even I can cook this. There's no way I can mess this up," Roberta said, stirring the contents of the pot.

"I'm sure you're not that bad, Sweetie," Rachel said, kissing Roberta's forehead gently.

"You haven't tasted it yet, Rachel My mom she gave up a long time ago teaching me how to cook. She says the only thing I cook well is microwave food or picking up the phone and ordering a pizza," Roberta said, rolling her eyes.

"Well, I guess we can get your grandmother to come teach you. My mother was hired by your father's family to be a cook. I think she could teach you," Rachel said.

"I don't know. I guess I just like eating food; not cooking it. Mom says I need to slow down and take my time, but I just get impatient with things like food," Roberta said, turning the burner off and preparing four bowls of soup.

"Robbie, you don't have to fix us anything. We ate as I picked up some papers in town," Bruce said as she picked up the second shallow earthen bowl.

"I see. I just thought you might be hungry," Roberta said as she put the bowls up in the cabinets.

"It was sweet of you to consider us, though," Rachel said as the Hamiltons' all came into the cabin.

"Long time, no see. Where were all of you?" Roberta asked as she went and hugged Patrick Hamilton. Bruce felt a brief flash of pain. This pain was worse than being injured as Batman, but he had to keep reminding himself that Roberta would never love him if he interfered in the relationship she had with the doctor and his wife.

"I had to go deliver a baby and your mother and grandmother helped. And your grandfather had to keep the husband from stopping me. As much as I'm part of this tribe through your grandmother, there are a few that don't like the fact that I have a white father. Now what have you been doing?" Hamilton asked, jerking one of Roberta's dark braids.

"Trying to read that book that Uncle Peter gave me and then when Bruce and Rachel came back they woke me and I fixed some leftover chicken corn chowder. I think it's safe if someone else cooks it and I heat it up," Roberta said, rolling her eyes.

"How is reading the book going for you, Rachel?" Michael Hamilton asked a grin on his old face.

"I don't know, Grandpa. I can speak Seneca really well. Jack even said that some of the people of the tribe say that I speak it better than a lot of people who have been around it all their lives. But reading the language is another thing entirely. Seneca is like a second nature to me, but I don't read the language quite as well as I speak it," Roberta said, taking the book out of Bruce's hands.

"It takes a while. You are learning. It took you almost a year to learn the language at all. I had to speak to you over and over again until you got the point. Why do we fall, Rachel?" Patrick asked.

"Is that a trick question?" Roberta asked, quirking her eyebrows.

"Just answer the question," Patrick said firmly.

"I don't know, Daddy," Roberta said in a small voice.

"So you can learn to pick yourself back up. What did I tell you when you first learned how to ride a bike and you fell off?" Patrick asked.

"Get up and try again even if I keep falling," Roberta said in a tiny voice.

"Exactly. You get up no matter how many times you fall. I'm going to see about giving you something that your grandfather gave me before I went to medical school. It's Lincoln's road to the White House. Learning something should be a snap if you see how many times he failed before he became President," Patrick Hamilton said.

"He failed a lot?" Roberta asked nervously.

"In more ways than you know and had a nervous breakdown," Patrick said, cupping Roberta's face gently.

"Dad, you're not really helping me with words like 'nervous breakdown.' "Roberta said with a grin.

"Sorry. I just thought someone else's experiences could help you. I'm just saying that when you fall get right back up. You don't know what you're capable of until you try," Patrick said.

"So, do you think I can run the tribe, Dad? White blood and the fact that I'll be coming from Gotham four or five times a year?" Roberta asked.

"Sure do. I think you are the most qualified person for the job that I know. Of course it won't happen until after you graduate from college. So you have a few years to learn the job along with the job you are going to college for," Patrick said as Roberta sat down with her bowl and started to eat.

Bruce sat next to her. "Dad, I don't know what I want to do yet when I graduate from college," Roberta said between bites.

"I could see a future doctor or lawyer, but that's up to you," Patrick said.

"Thanks, Dad. I guess I just better get a fondness for the Seneca language. I might be speaking and writing it for the rest of my life," Roberta said, blowing out her hair away from her face. Roberta was annoyed and confused. A fourteen-year-old was getting more than she bargained for, but Bruce knew she get through it. She was his daughter. She already looked like him in a lot of ways and he could see his personality in her when he was fourteen. He only hoped that she wouldn't join him in fighting crime when he was Batman. Batman had endangered her when she was three. He wouldn't let it happen again.


	15. An Argument Between Cousins and a Talk

Chapter 15- An Argument and a talk

Now I know I should have been reading the book of Seneca laws, but the next day after working in the corn fields and trying to wrap my brain around the Seneca words I was ready to take a break. Like I said, speaking the language for me is nothing. Reading it is another thing entirely. It looked like one of my father's prescriptions and I have tried to read one of his with more success than I was having now.

I was seated by the waterfalls the next morning, reading a book by Beverly Lewis. I have a fascination with the Amish culture and Beverly Lewis and Wanda E. Brunstetter are two of the best writers of that culture. So here I was reading "_The Parting," _happy that for the time being I was reading English.

I didn't hear anyone until Bruce's hand jerked one of my braids. "I thought you were trying to read that book on Indian law," Bruce said, taking the book out of my hands and looking at the title.

"I was. I just needed a break," I said, rubbing my eyes gently.

"Can't blame you there. That is pretty heavy reading," Bruce said, giving me my book back.

"Just don't tell Uncle Peter I was getting lost in Amish country instead of reading the book he gave me," I said.

"You're secret's safe with me, Robbie. I still think it's fascinating that you know this language to begin with," Bruce said as we walked back to the reservation.

"Do you and Rachel want to learn the language? You're going to run into a few people here who don't want to speak English. People like my grandmother are happier speaking Seneca," I said.

"That's not necessary. I'm perfectly content to let you or Dr. Hamilton tell me what they are saying or translate for me when I need to tell them something," Bruce said with a smile.

"I just thought you might like to learn it is all. It's complicated, but once you learn it gets easy," I said as Jane came fuming toward us. Her face was red with anger as she glared at me.

"I hope you're happy now," Jane said, her voice shaking with rage as she spoke in Seneca.

"Okay, what did I do?" I asked, calmly in English for Bruce's benefit. I could of easily spoken in Seneca, but I would have to explain to Bruce what Jane was so angry about and I always thought it was kind of rude to speak the language in front of people who had no idea what you were talking about.

"You know what you did! You're not even Indian and yet my father picked you to be a chief!" Jane protested, this time using English.

"You know, your father and my father might argue that. And what about Jack? He's as white as I am and yet his father picked him?" I asked. My cousin was being completely ridiculous by what she was saying. I could see know why Uncle Peter didn't pick her to be a chief. She was throwing a tantrum and in front of Bruce too!

"He's not even your father, you idiot! He only adopted you because Aunt Ellen couldn't have kids!" Jane said, choosing at that moment to be cruel. I felt tears come to my eyes.

"I never did anything to you! Is it my fault that your father picked me? I don't have to stand here and take this. I'm going home and I suggest you do the same," I said, feeling the tears slip down my cheeks. My cousin had always been a pain, but she had never been this cruel to anyone. I had no idea she was jealous because her father picked me over her. I walked past her, Bruce following. Jane didn't follow. She just stood there with her mouth open.

"That went well," Bruce commented dryly.

"Yeah. My cousin had no right to argue this. She could get in trouble with Uncle Peter and the council of tribal chiefs if I choose to tell him about this," I said, keeping my eyes ahead.

"You're not going to?" Bruce asked.

"Nope. The way I figure it she'll get over it and if she doesn't then she'll get in trouble by her own mouth. She's always been kind of a loudmouth. It's not my fault that Uncle Peter picked me. I will tell Dad what she said about his only adopting me because they couldn't have kids. I'm sure that was the reason, but she didn't have to say it like that. I am sorry Bruce that she said all of that with you there," I apologized as we stepped up to the council-house.

My father was there with Grandpa and Uncle Peter. "Where have you been?" Dad asked as he hugged me tightly.

"Just reading," I said casually. I would tell him later about Jane if the need arose.

"You almost didn't make it on time," Dad said as we entered the smoke-filled room. Someone opened the windows and the fireplace flue and the room cleared out instantly. It was then that I saw the other choices for chiefs of the tribe. I wasn't the only girl picked. There where three or four other girls that came from different areas of the reservation and some boys. The only one I knew was Jack. I stood next to him. He looked almost nervous as he bit his lips.

"Any idea what the elders are gonna say?" I whispered to him.

"Dad tried to give me an idea, but he didn't really tell me what they'd say. He told me that Lone Fox picked you," Jack said, his blue eyes bright in the room. Lone Fox was my uncle's Indian name as we all have one to use besides our white names.

"Yeah. Jane tried to pick an argument about it a few minutes ago," I grunted softly.

"You should tell your uncle, Green Moss," Jack said, using my Indian name. I wasn't exactly fond of it, but when my parents first brought me here to visit my relatives the people of the tribe gave me the name since my eyes were the color of moss.

"I'm not going to. Jane has always been a loudmouth. She'll get into trouble on her own without my help," I said as someone beat a drum and the room went quiet.

My uncle and another elder named Strong Bear stepped forward. "Welcome, Children. You were all picked to later become chiefs after we are gone. Since we are trying to keep up with the world we have picked some of the young girls of the tribe to be leaders. Most of you are our daughters and only one of you is the niece of one of the chiefs. Being a chief is hard work. You have to be here four or five times a year for council decisions and trained in the ways of being a chief for the next four or five years. That will also go with your education at the white man's schools. Then after you become a chief you will be called on to make difficult decisions and then you train the chief who will be after you. Are there any questions?" Chief Strong Bear asked, in his calm, soothing voice.

I raised my hand. "Is there any way we can all practice on reading the Seneca language? I speak it just fine, but I have difficulties in reading it," I said nervously.

"Sounds a whole lot like us when we were their age," Uncle Peter said amused.

"That is another thing we will train all of you on. All of you have been picked because of your readiness to adapt to the ways of our people. Except for Green Moss and Running Elk you have all been born into the culture. Green Moss and Running Elk were adopted into our culture and proved to be fast learners. Green Moss, you can learn to read the language. You just have to practice with it and ask your father to help you. He can read the language," Strong Bear said.

"Are there any other questions?" Jack's father Trent Mason asked. A few minutes passed and no one asked anything.

"Now all of you will be given these," Strong Bear said, indicating bead necklaces that had feathers intertwined with them. The feathers were those of the eagle; a symbol of leadership and flying over problems. My necklace was beautiful. It was made of glass beads and made me think of Joseph and the coat of many colors. The feathers added to the colors. After that we could leave. I slipped the beads over my head and went outside.

Bruce and Dad were standing there and they both came up to me. "You smell like wood smoke," Dad said, wrinkling his nose as I hugged him.

"Would it kill you to ask me how it went?" I asked dryly as Bruce hugged me. Apparently Bruce didn't care that I smelled bad from smoke.

"I'm sorry. How did it go, little bit?" Dad asked. I winced. I hate being called "Little Bit." Dad knows that as well as I do, but I usually try to ignore it.

"Okay, I guess. Strong Bear said you could help me with reading Seneca since my reading skills in that area are kind of poor," I said as we walked back to Grandmother and Grandpa's cabin. Bruce was on one side of me and Dad was on the other.

"All you have to do is ask. Of course reading romance novels won't cause you to learn the language any faster, Rachel," Dad said sternly. I felt my face grow hot. I looked over at Bruce.

"Bruce, you didn't tell him, did you?" I asked in an accusing tone.

"Wayne didn't tell me. I know that you read out there by the waterfalls. I'm not completely oblivious, Rach," Dad said.

"How did you know?" I asked, my interest piqued.

"If I told you I'd lose all credibility as your father," Dad said a note of finality in his voice. Dad could stop a conversation pretty quickly. That's where I had learned it. But that didn't mean I was done asking. I would ask Mom or Grandmother later. They would tell me how Dad knew I went to the waterfalls to read.

We entered the house. Mom, Rachel, and Grandmother were having a three-way conversation over green cornbread. Apparently Mom and Grandmother were trying to teach Rachel how to cook Seneca-style. Alfred stood there, looking amused.

"So how's the cooking lesson going?" I whispered to Alfred.

"Your mother is having difficulty with the instructions since she's hearing Seneca and English at the same time," Alfred said, smiling at the scene.

"That makes two of us. The first, and only time, Grandmother and Mom tried to teach me how to make green cornbread I burned it where not even the dogs in the village would eat it. Jane, being Jane, said I was trying to poison everybody with my cooking," I said as Mom put a cake in the oven.

"It wasn't that bad, Rachel. Don't overdramatize things," Mom said, looking up and brushing strands of sweaty blond hair out of her face.

"Who's overdramatizing?" I asked.

"You are. You're cooking leaves a lot to be desired, but it didn't taste that bad and Jane didn't quite say it like that," Mom said, sounding like the voice of reason.

"Sure take her side. Everyone else does," I muttered the last part. Well, actually that was completely untrue. No one takes Jane's side in anything. They all know as well as I do that Jane is a spoiled brat. Mom has even mentioned that Jane is jealous that I'm the favorite among the family. I don't know how I got to be the favorite. It just happened that way.

"Do any of you need my help with anything?" I asked in both Seneca and English for both Rachel and my grandmother's sake.

"We need some wood, right Yellow Bird?" Mom asked grandmother in her own falting Seneca and also in English.

"Yes. Some wood would be appreciated," Grandmother said with her calm gentle smile at me.

"I'll go with her," Rachel said, wiping her hands on a towel.

We walked out the door. My father, grandfather, Bruce, Mr. Mason, and other men of the tribe were there talking. "You know, Rachel, you didn't have to come out here with me just to get wood," I said as we walked into the woods.

"I don't mind. I wanted to get out of the kitchen and I haven't really been able to talk with you. Even though you are fourteen now, things haven't changed much. You still cling more to your father than you ever did to me," Rachel said.

"I did get that impression when I looked through newspaper articles. There were more pictures of me with Bruce than there were of me with you. Did I just automatically cling to him for some reason?" I asked, as I started snapping sticks off fallen trees.

"I never understood why you always wanted him. When you were born and would start to cry I couldn't calm you down. Only your father could do that. You always were a Daddy's girl," Rachel said, her brown eyes looking like sludge.

"Rachel, I'm sorry," I apologized, sitting on the log next to her.

"It's not your fault. I think your father was happy when he found out that I was pregnant. He thought that with you that you wouldn't have to suffer nearly as much as he did as a child. Your father has never gotten over seeing your grandparents killed in front of him," Rachel said, smoothing my hair and forehead gently with her hand.

"Is that what made him Batman?" I whispered softly so no one could hear the conversation.

"Yes. I almost married someone else because of it. But one of your father's enemies kidnapped me and the man I was supposed to marry. Your father and the police managed to rescue us and I realized I loved your father, not the man I was supposed to marry. I wanted your father. I never really agreed with Batman, but I realized that if I loved Bruce I had to accept that Bruce was Batman. That just because he does this doesn't mean he loves me less. I did make him promise when I pregnant that Batman wouldn't endanger you. That you wouldn't see your father as that," Rachel said, the tears spilling over.

"I didn't intend to see him as Batman this time. Also, it was because of Batman I was kidnapped, wasn't it?" I asked.

"In a way it was. Your father told you about Henri Ducard, didn't he?" Rachel asked as we stood.

"A little bit. He said that Ducard wanted Bruce to help him destroy Gotham. Bruce refused. When Bruce refused Ducard burned Wayne Manor down and left him for dead. Apparently he decided to get even a second time by taking you," Rachel said as we left the woods

"Is there any chance Ducard could come back once he finds out that I messed up his plans by kidnapping me?" I asked softly.

"Your father says there is a chance, but he told me that he'll try to protect you when the time comes," Rachel said as we entered the house. I hoped Rache3l was right. I didn't want to live through a repeat performance of this again.


	16. Old Memories and Private Jets

Chapter 16- Old Memories and Private Jets

I guess I could say that the rest of the harvest went well. All too soon it was over and I was promising my relatives that I would be back in January for the tribal council meeting. Of course my mom and dad would be coming up to Gotham as soon as they got the house sold and found some place in Gotham to live.

So as soon as the harvest was over I found myself looking at a private jet at the airfield twenty miles from the reservation. Bruce opened the door for Rachel and she stood next to me as the door to the jet opened.

"So, what do you think?" Rachel asked, slipping her arm around my shoulders.

"Nice plane," I said as Alfred and the pilot took our suitcases and carry-on bags.

"Is that all you can say, Robbie? You used to love it when we left Gotham and we'd use the jet," Bruce said as we walked to the plane.

"I did? I don't remember," I said in a small voice.

Bruce wrapped his arms around me; hugging me tightly. "It's all right. No one expects everything to come back to you," Bruce said, stroking my hair gently.

"Well, I guess it's too late to say I have a small problem with heights," I said, putting my bag under my seat and sat down.

"Yes. It's too late," Bruce said as he pulled some papers out of his briefcase and put them on the tray in front of them.

"How long have you had the problem with heights, Miss Roberta?" Alfred asked as I pulled out my ipod.

"It was sometime when I was thirteen. One of my cousins thought it'd be fun to go bungee jumping. Let's just say that I had the same reaction to bungee cords that I had to school shots when I was five. By the time it was over I was screaming and crying. My dad had to sedate me to shut me up," I said, putting the head phones in my ears.

I turned the ipod on to my favorite Jason Mraz song, "_I'm Yours_" and sat back so I wouldn't have to look out the window. If I had noticed Bruce and Rachel were looking at each other and then at me with concerned looks. Their conversation was just as concerned.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"I thought she was only terrified of shots. She got upset when I told her that we have a DNA test scheduled when we get back," Bruce said to Rachel and Alfred. He could only hear Roberta's ipod a little. He hoped the ipod's ear buds kept Roberta from hearing his concern.

"Bruce, Dr. Hamilton was right about one thing. She's going to need support. It's hard enough being a teenager when everything is normal. She didn't ask for shots and heights," Rachel said.

"I know. I just thought she'd like the jet like she used to. Remember when we took her on a business trip to London and then Hawaii," Bruce said, smiling at his daughter. He could hear Brittney Spears's "_You Drive me Crazy"_ coming out faintly from her ipod. She had liked music when she was small. Rachel's mother had introduced her to Raffi and Roberta just about wore out his songs. He had looked through her CD'S when she was out in the cornfield. She was mostly into the soft rock thing. She had Backstreet boys, Taylor Swift, and Celine Dion. The only country he could see was Josh Turner, Martina McBride, and Vince Gill with a lot of Christian CDs.

"I'm under the impression that the doctor and his wife don't travel much, Sir," Alfred said as he gave Bruce a bottle of water and Rachel tea.

"That could explain a lot about her flying phobia. Actually bungee jumping would terrify me too," Rachel said as Roberta fell asleep.

"I more or less do that every night when I go out as Batman so I don't have a problem with it," Bruce said as he put his signature on the bottom of one page.

"Bruce, are we going to lock the entrance to the cave that is in her bedroom?" Rachel asked concern in her dark brown eyes.

"I thought about it, but, Rachel, what do we tell her if she asks why she can't go through there?" Bruce asked.

"Why don't we just tell her the truth? We are trying to protect her. It's bad enough that she knows that her father is Batman," Rachel said, reaching out and pulling out the ear buds and turning off the ipod.

"I didn't actually plan for her to find out, Rachel. I know I promised to never tell her that I was Batman. She found out by accident," Bruce said stiffly. He loved Rachel, but this was just exasperating that she could think that he'd endanger Roberta in this way. It wasn't even his fault that Ra's al Ghul had kidnapped Roberta in the first place. He had thought the man was dead. He had no idea that he'd come back and kidnap Bruce's baby girl in vengeance.

"I never blamed you, but she has already been put into danger once because of Batman. It was a miracle she wasn't killed. I don't want her hurt this time, Bruce. I want her safe," Rachel said sadly.

"I know, Rachel. I'll lock the door to her room. But if she does get into trouble Batman will save her. Even though she's Bruce Wayne's daughter; she's also Batman's daughter. Ducard knows that and that was why he took her the first time. I think he thought that the only way to hurt me was through someone I loved and the papers bragged on how much I doted on her when she was born. I fussed over her more than you did," Bruce said.

"I know we're going to see your picture in the paper as Batman, but is there any way we can limit how much she sees you as Batman?" Rachel asked her eyes large with concern.

"I could always do what I did when she was born. I can go out as Batman after she goes to bed," Bruce said wearily as Roberta woke up, rubbing at her eyes with her hands.

"How long was I asleep?" Roberta asked groggily.

"Not long. Why don't you go back to sleep, Miss Roberta? You've been up before dawn," Alfred suggested. Bruce smiled at his friend. Alfred had been a father figure to Bruce all those years after his parents had died. Alfred had always been there for him and his protection and loving ways had gone to Roberta. In a way Alfred was like her grandfather since she would never know Thomas Wayne.

"I'm okay. I guess I can get some of the Seneca constitution in. Where's my ipod?" Roberta asked, looking around.

"Right here," Rachel said, handing the ipod and ear buds to their daughter.

"Thank you," Roberta said, putting the ear buds in her ears and pulling out the thick volume of Indian law.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Now I really did have to read this book, but I didn't want to tell Bruce or Rachel that I had a memory while I was asleep. I figured it could wait until we landed in Gotham and I could tell it later.

But since all of you aren't Bruce or Rachel I guess I can tell you. Bruce had just said that I loved flying in the jet. Well, I still don't like heights, but while I was asleep I remembered a trip and I was flying in this same jet. But the memory itself scared me a little.

All these memories, as scattered as they are, are a little overwhelming. Like Janie in _The Face on the Milk Carton_ they are almost too much when I think of my other memories with Mom and Dad. I guess I must have made a face because I felt Bruce touch my knee gently.

I nearly jumped out of my seat. Bruce's eyes were full of concern. I turned off the ipod and looked into his eyes. One thing about his eyes was that even though Bruce can be a little gruff and stoic, his eyes are different. He could be frowning and his eyes would reveal how much he loved me, Rachel, or Alfred.

"Are you all right, Robbie?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know. It doesn't help if you scare me out of my wits," I said sarcastically.

"Sorry. You just got this look on your face," Bruce apologized, patting my knee gently.

"It's nothing. Just a little confusion over a bit of wording," I lied. Now I know that wasn't the truth. I also know I'm not a very good liar. Most people who know me know that about me. Apparently Bruce knew that too.

"You know, it's not a good thing to lie to your father," Bruce said sternly.

"I know, I know. I got that lecture when I was five or six. I lied to Dad and he was angry," I said, putting my bookmark in the book I was reading.

"You shouldn't lie to me either. I'm a lawyer," Rachel chimed in.

"It's a good thing then that I'm a terrible liar. My dad always says he knows when I'm lying," I said.

"Actually so do I. I could always tell when you were being less than truthful when you were little and now," Bruce said, with a grin.

"So, am I in trouble?" I asked nervously.

"I won't punish you this time, but don't you ever lie to me again. If you lie to me how do I know when my little girl is telling me the truth?" Bruce asked, reaching out and touching my face gently.

I couldn't argue that point. Looking into Bruce's eyes he reminded me of Dad. Dad would have said the same thing too.

"So, what's wrong?" Rachel asked, going back to why I was making faces to begin with.

"I was just remembering something from when I was little. I think I remember being on this plane once," I said, looking around at the plane.

"What do you remember?" Bruce asked, putting his hands on my shoulders.

"Not much. I just remember the plane. The look of it," I said, wrinkling my forehead.

"You don't remember going to London or Hawaii when your father had business outside of Gotham?" Rachel asked.

"No. We went to London and Hawaii?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.

"Yes we did. You loved it though. I'm going to Italy in a few weeks. Would you like to come? You and your mother can go shopping while I do business," Bruce said, wrapping strands of my hair around his fingers.

"I guess so. I always did want to see Italy," I said, trying to forget my phobia of heights. I always did want to travel, but I always wanted to forget the flying part just to get there. I guess I could chalk it up to being one of the perks of having money.

"Did you never travel much when you were younger, Miss Roberta?" Alfred asked. Alfred always looked concerned over me, Bruce, and Rachel. He kind of reminded me of a loving grandfather; even though I already had one.

"Not really. There was the reservation when we moved to Cedar Rapids and me and Mom like to go Christmas shopping in Chicago. The malls look really good up there. Also we took an RV to go camping and Dad took me to Disneyworld when I was 7 or 8. It was my birthday and Dad thought going to Florida would be fun. Mom is not exactly the Mickey Mouse type so she went shopping while Dad took me on all the rides," I said, remembering spinning around in Alice's Mad Tea Party. The cups had made me slightly dizzy, but it was fun.

This expression on Bruce's face caused me to stop. It was still pained as if I had slapped him across the face. I didn't know what to do about this. I didn't mean to hurt Bruce, but it was hard not to feel disloyal to Dad too. I couldn't win in this situation. If I suddenly called Bruce "Dad" and ignored my dad then Dad would be hurt and I'd be seeing the pain that was in Bruce's eyes in Dad's. It seemed as if all I did was hurt either one.

"I'm sorry," I managed to choke out before getting up and going to the bathroom as fast as I could on a plane up in the air. It wasn't that fast since my legs felt wobbly and I felt as if I was going to fall over. I locked myself in the bathroom and sat down on the floor. The bathroom was really very nice. Bruce's plane made me think of the movie _Air Force One_ that I watched with Dad a couple of months ago. It was a plane, but it wasn't like most planes that I had seen on TV or books.

I swallowed hard and started to cry over this whole mess. I was just a kid and I didn't know how to fix it.


End file.
